Deathly Musings
by loveislouder94
Summary: As Death descends, we see that last look, hear those final few words a person will ever speak. Still, we've never really been privvy to the final thoughts of the Harry Potter characters. Until now...
1. Snape

A/N: These are going to be a series of short pieces on the deaths of various characters

**A/N: These are going to be a series of short pieces on the deaths of various characters. If you have any requests, tell me and I'll write one for that character. Hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: I've run out of smart comments, so here it is: I don't own anything.**

The blood poured from his neck in torrents, he knew this was the end, he had failed. But then he saw them, those green eyes and he thought it had finally happened, he had passed over. Then he saw the face and he knew he had one last chance.

'Take…..it'.

With his remaining strength he gave his memories to the boy, the one he hated, and yet felt a strange fondness for at the same time. He could only hope that the boy would understand, and would do what was right, as his mother would have.

His mother. An angel to walk the earth, if there ever was one. She was dead, and it was his fault. He had tried, all these years, to make things right, for her. When he died, he would know if he had done the right thing. That was enough to make him wish for death. There was one last thing he had to do. He had to see her eyes.

'Look…at…me'.

Emerald green locked with pools of black, and it was enough. Her eyes were his last memory.


	2. Moody

A/N: Here's the next chapter

**A/N: Here's the next chapter. Thanks to Plate Captain for reviewing and to Amaherst for adding this to Favourites list. Hope you like it.**

'Good luck everyone, see you in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One…two…THREE!'

On the outside he acted calm, but on the inside, he was a bag of nerves, for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on. He had never been this nervous before. He had a bad feeling about this. His instincts were proven right less than a minute later, when the whole party were surrounded by Death Eaters.

He caught a glimpse of Bill and Fleur, and had time to hope that Dung would keep his head, before the fighting started. They came at him, and Moody thought that they might just have a chance, if no one screwed up. No sooner than he had that thought, he heard Dung cry out in fear. Moody tried to stop him, knowing what would happen if he couldn't. He was too late, the coward had fled. He had a single second to acknowledge what was about to happen when he heard Voldemort's cry, saw that unmistakeable flash of light. And then it was over, he knew no more.


	3. Hedwig

**A/N: Here's chapter 3, hope you like it. **

Something was going to happen; they were going on a journey. She knew that as soon as Two-Legs-Green-Eyes put her in her cage, and cleaned more thoroughly than ever before. Two-Legs-Green-Eyes placed her in the side seat of a big flying machine, and Hedwig gave a small squawk of protest as they rose higher and higher. She was distracted from protesting the unfairness of being lifted into the air and not being able to unfurl her wings when the sky was lit up with streaks of red light and shouts of fear.

Different memories flashed before her eyes: the day when Two-Legs-Green-Eyes came and took her away from the Emporium, the best day of her life. She didn't think she could stand another day there, no one wanted her because she was snow white, so different to all the others. But Two-Legs-Green-Eyes had taken her anyway. She had sensed a sort of comradeship there, like he was an outcast also.

The time when Two-Legs-Green-Eyes seemed to have forgotten her, he was always using the school owls, had she done something wrong? He had told her: 'you'll stand out'. That had hurt. Soon after he had started giving her jobs again and everything was better.

She was wrenched back to the present when her cage flipped and would have plummeted to the ground, had Two-Legs-Green-Eyes not caught her. One of those red flashes hit her, she felt the impact before she fell, and Hedwig was forever still.


	4. Grindlewald

**A/N: Big thank you to oOoJadeoOo for her reviews! Hope you like this one!**

He heard a noise and rolled over. The moment he saw that ugly, snake-like face, he knew it was over, there was no hope for him. But there was a chance he could try to make things right. The prisoner knew why he had come, what he was looking for. If he was correct, he would do his utmost to ensure that this monster did not win.

'So, you have come. I thought you would…one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it'.

'You lie!'

Grindlewald hoped that he would be believed. One look into those cold red eyes told him his hopes were fruitless. It didn't matter. He could still enjoy a silent joke at the expense of the figure before him. He laughed, exposing his toothless mouth.

'Kill me then Voldemort, I welcome death. My death will not bring you what you seek; there is so much you do not understand…….'

Fury rolled off his attacker in waves, he was struggling for control. 'Tell me or you die!'

'Kill me then! You will not win, you cannot win!'

That was the last straw, he snapped, cast the spell that would end this.

Grindlewald's last thought was 'I'm sorry, I tried.'


	5. Dobby

**A/N: This was done on the request of htbookreader1. Hope you like it!**

CRASH!

The chandelier dropped to the ground and shattered to pieces, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin. After making sure her son was safe from further harm, Narcissa Malfoy scanned the room for the culprit. Her eyes landed on her former servant.

'Dobby!' She shrieked, 'you dropped the chandelier?'

The elf entered the room, pointing an accusing finger at his old mistress.

'You must not hurt Harry Potter'.

Dobby was shaking with fear, but he knew he must do what was right, and forget how frightened he was.

A few moments later, Dobby felt Harry's hand squeeze his arm, and he knew it was time to go. He turned; ready to vanish into oblivion, when he felt a pain greater than any he had ever known tear through his chest. He uttered not a sound, for fear of frightening Harry, or worse, sending them to the wrong place. He could not stop his hand from giving a violent spasm, his body reacting to the pain.

Harry let go of his hand and Dobby had to fight to stay upright, he knew now that this was a wound from which he would not recover. He followed Harry's line of sight to the ugly hilt of a knife that was protruding grotesquely from his chest.

He dimly registered Harry shouting something he could not make out. He weakly stretched out his arms, and Harry caught him and laid him gently on the grass. Dobby looked up and whispered the name of his hero. 'Harry…Potter'.

He gave a shudder, hoping with his last thought that wherever he went, there would be lots of pretty, mismatched socks.


	6. Regulus

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, they really make my day

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, they really make my day. Hope you enjoy this one!**

Black. A name he had always been proud of. Until recently, when he'd seen the error of his ways, too late. Even as he instructed Kreacher to take him to that place, that horrible cave, he realised what fate had in store, and he was determined not to shy away. If he did one thing in his life to be proud of, let it be this.

They Apparated to the cave and Kreacher looked at his most beloved master, uncertain. Regulus nodded, trusting that Kreacher wouldn't let him down, and knowing they were in the right place for the look of utter terror that was etched all over the elf's face. The two made the descent slowly, slipping and sliding on the wet ground. When they reached the water, Regulus turned around to check on Kreacher.

'Come on' he reassured the shaking elf, 'don't be afraid.'

With that he dived in and started swimming, Kreacher following reluctantly behind. They climbed out of the water, shivering, from the cold this time.

Kreacher walked up to a wall of rock that looked exactly like the rest and pointed.

'Here is the place where blood is required, Master.'

Wordlessly, Regulus drew out his wand and cut his arm, deep enough to send blood spurting everywhere. Obligingly, the rock face disappeared, and they continued on their way.

Regulus took hold of the invisible chain and pulled until a small boat bobbed into view. Regulus and Kreacher sat in silence as said boat ferried them to the middle of the lake, where a stone basin was visible, glowing an eerie green hue. They disembarked, and Kreacher finally spoke. 'Master, let me drink it, please!'

'No! You know the Dark Lord would be suspicious, you must go back and tell the family nothing of this, and you must make sure I drink every last drop, understand?' Regulus responded, his mask of impatience barely hiding the fear swirling around unbridled inside him. Tears fell down the elf's cheeks, but he had no choice but to obey. Seeing this, Regulus took a long drink from the basin. His face contorted in pain, but he managed another two gulps, before falling to his knees, and screaming for mercy. Kreacher, now sobbing freely, forced the rest of the potion down his masters' throat, and when there was none left, took the locket and replaced it with the fake.

In his last seconds before being swallowed up by the cold, dead hands of the water, Regulus had a single coherent thought: _Sirius would be proud_.


	7. Fred

**A/N: This is for oOoJadeoOo and all the other twin fans out there. Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I was a bit worried about doing this one; I didn't want to go OOC or anything. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of this is mine.**

It was a Battle. In a Battle there was going to be casualties, it was inevitable. Fred just never thought he would be one of the ones to die. All in all, he was pleased with how he died, fighting and, of course, laughing at his own jokes.

The hit came suddenly, and unexpectedly, he hadn't been prepared. Things were looking up, Percy was back, and the family was whole again. Nothing could tear them apart now. Except when fate decided to intervene. That's how Fred saw it, anyway. He hadn't been expecting to die, but when it happened, he was surprisingly calm. His one great worry was for his twin left behind. He knew that if their positions were reversed, he would not be so relaxed. Even through the feeling of calm, there was a nagging sense of wrongness, that a part of him was missing, leaving a whole in his heart that couldn't be filled until his brother was here with him. Thus, he went into Death, with the same vigorous energy with which he approached everything in life, hoping and waiting for the time when his twin would join him.


	8. Charity Burbage

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I would like to say thank you to everyone who's added this to their favorites and alerts, but please review so I know what you think. Enjoy Charity Burbage's last moments!**

Charity's life was over. She'd known it the moment she saw those red eyes. Eyes that were red like blood, the stuff of night mares. As she hung in mid air, suspended by invisible ropes, she gave up. Charity allowed her thoughts to wander, thinking of her mother and father and her gorgeous little brother whom she wouldn't see grow up. That hurt the most, imagining Chris entering Hogwarts a few years from now, his round hazel eyes shining with excitement. That's if there still was a Hogwarts a few years in the future. It didn't look good at the moment. She was jerked back to reality as she started revolving, seeing or rather sensing the evil gazes locked on her. The former teacher sobbed, unable to hold in her terror. She saw a face she recognized, framed by curtains if greasy black hair.

'Severus...please…please help me!'

Even as she begged, she knew it was futile. His face stared back at her, devoid of emotion. _Let it end quickly_ she thought desperately, _let the pain come to an end_. Surprisingly, after a flash of green light, it did.


	9. Albus Dumbledore

**A/N: Yay, an update! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. As always, I hope you enjoy this.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, my initials are LP not JKR. **

Albus was going to die soon. Very, very soon. He knew this, had known it for a long time, but that didn't stop the sense of fear he felt, the natural human instinct to flee from Death, from that which scares us. He kept his fear at bay, he had to.

He immobilised Harry, he didn't want to, but there was no other choice, the boy could not stand in the way of what had to happen.

Draco was wavering, Dumbledore could see, he would not do it. All according to plan. However, he was getting weaker. The potion was making its way through his system. With each beat of his heart, it spread, further and further.

The door burst open, and Severus came striding through. He ran his eyes over the situation, coming to the conclusion that tonight was the night. The night he would become known as the murderer of Albus Dumbledore.

'Severus….please.' The dying man begged.

As hatred consumed the face of the man in front of him, Dumbledore was relieved. At least he got to choose how he died. The green light flashed, and he thought, _may you all remember, I did what I did for the greater good_.


	10. Cedric Diggory

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. The holidays are coming up so I'll be able to update more regularly, yay! As always, a great big thank you to my reviewers, and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I'd be lying if I said any of this was mine, and I'm not a liar, so I won't.**

Cedric Diggory wasn't expecting to die. Despite all the hype over the Tournament, and how dangerous it was, he never thought it would end the way it did.

He had just grabbed the Triwizard cup with Harry Potter, Hogwarts had won! His father would be so proud of him. In those few moments he was happier than he'd ever been. Then the cup stopped spinning, and Harry and Cedric were in a grave yard.

Was this some sort of test that no one had told them about?

Looking sideways at Harry, he didn't think so. The look of utmost terror on his face could not be caused by any task, no matter how surprising.

Harry clutched his scar, pain replacing the fear of his expression.

Cedric heard a high cold voice hiss. 'Kill the spare.'

He wished that somehow he could get back to his parents, before the deadly light struck.


	11. Sirius Black

**A/N: Another update! Wow, 11 chapters! I wouldn't be here without all my reviewers, so once again, thank you! **

_Harry, at the Ministry of Magic? Of course, he wouldn't hesitate if he thought I or anyone else was in danger_, Sirius thought. He really was his father's son.

Snape, the arrogant git, had told Sirius to stay at the house and wait for Dumbledore, but there was no way he was going to do that, not when his godson was in danger. Sirius gave Kreacher the task of explaining everything to Dumbledore, and followed everyone else to the Ministry.

Needless to say, they weren't happy to see him. 'What are you doing here?' Tonks snapped, and the others muttered variations of that question. Remus was the only one who wasn't surprised.

'Sirius is here now, and one more fighter will help us, let's go!'

No one could argue, so they set off for the Department of Mysteries. They burst into the room, and Sirius shot a Stunner at Malfoy. The rest of the fight passed in a blur of light and sound, until his fight with Bellatrix.

She was the toughest opponent, the best fighter save Voldemort, but Sirius was not afraid. There was no trace of doubt in his mind, he could not lose.

He bobbed and weaved, dodging her curses while firing off more of his own.

'You'll have to do better than that!' He taunted her confidently.

Then- a flash of red, and the sensation of falling…falling into nothingness...

_Huh…_.he mused…_guess I was wrong…_


	12. Nagini

**A/N: My thanks to everyone who reviewed, feel free to let me know if there's a character you want me to write. Sorry I had to repost this because there was a spelling mistake. Thanks to Morgan WhiteFang for pointing it out.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, I can't claim HP, that would be JK Rowling.**

Animals, in the Wizarding world, were treated much the same as House Elves, like dirt. There was those rare few who were nice to their servants, and stood up for their rights- Hermione Granger for instance. With Lord Voldemort as her master, none would think that Nagini the snake led a very happy life. But they were wrong. Nagini was treasured by her master for a few reasons. The first being what she was- a snake. This enabled her to communicate with her master, and after a while, she became loyal to him, and he to her. She knew for certain that Voldemort prized her above all other living things when he made her a Horcrux. Nagini had no qualms about helping her master, no matter how evil his work, for as an animal she was detached from the feelings and emotions that hinder humans, she felt nothing. This was another reason why she was useful to Voldemort.

With his protection, Nagini need not fear, not even think about death, which was why she was surprised as the great blade arced gracefully downwards to chop off her head. Save surprise at the last millisecond, she felt nothing. Nagini died the same as she lived.


	13. Colin Creevy

**A/N: This one is the death of Colin Creevy, and was written on the request of htbookreader1. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Although I own the books and DVD's, the HP franchise is not mine. :(**

No one really paid much attention to Colin Creevy. He was just that little kid who worshipped Harry Potter, and whom Harry found somewhat annoying. His marks weren't that good, he would pass, but never with flying colours. Colin was loud, and threw himself into life with an energy that is rarely seen, and this didn't get him many friends.

But if one had taken the time to look closer, to get to know Colin, to really see him, they would discover so much more.

They would discover a boy who was kind, always willing to lend a hand to those in need. A boy who was fun loving and knew how to make people laugh, just by laughing himself.

Someone who understood that each moment is precious, and should be cherished, for once it is gone, it will never come again.

Most of all, Colin was simply good. Unfortunately, it was his goodness, and his amazing bravery (some would call it fearless foolishness) that led to his undoing. Staying behind to fight in the Battle of Hogwarts, he sought not glory or recognition, merely the restoration of all that was right.

Ultimately, it was not a spell or curse that killed him, but a stray piece of debris, which hit him after he pushed a friend out of the way. He was not afraid, just glad that his friend had not perished along with him. After the war, Colin was buried with the others that died in the Battle. In the eulogy, his mother remarked that he was a hero, with outstanding courage. Were Colin alive today, he would correct her gently, saying 'courage is not the absence of fear, but the knowledge that something else is more important than fear.'

And so Colin Creevy died. He may be gone, but he will never be forgotten.

**A/N: Oh, not another Author's note! I just wanted to say that the courage quote is not mine, I got it from the Princess Diaries….**


	14. Remus Lupin

**A/N: This one is the death of Remus Lupin, and was written on the request of 0Rosina0. Hope you enjoy it! Oh, and if I don't update before the 25****th****, hope you all have a Merry Christmas!**

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, HP isn't mine, so please don't sue!**

Going into the Battle, Remus wasn't afraid. Well, not for himself, at least. He had left Dora with Teddy and her mother, so he could be sure that the two most important people in his life were safe. That was what he thought until he saw his wife fighting for her life, not too far away from him. Though she had changed her appearance – from blonde and blue eyed to an astonishing beauty with long black tresses and emerald eyes – he knew it was her, he would know her anywhere.

_I should have known she would come_ he thought to himself, _it would be against her very nature not to fight when others were in danger, she's quite like Sirius in that respect…_

Lupin continued fighting- there was nothing else he could possibly do, he was surrounded on all sides- whilst hoping that he would get a chance to speak to Dora soon. His attention was diverted when Dolohov appeared in front of him, with that vicious snarl that seemed to contain so much malice that it could only be worn by a Death Eater etched into every line of his face. This was a fight that required all of Remus' concentration, he was well aware that it could be his last.

His wand cut through the air, sending deadly jets of light at his opponent. Remus thought not of his violent actions, but of Teddy and Dora, for whom he lived. It was for them that he must survive. And it was for her that he died.

Bellatrix's evil, triumphant laugh caught his attention, and he turned in time to see a slender body slump to the ground, limp and unmoving. Tonks. Dora…dead. He knew he was in grave danger, but he could not take his eyes off her.

Dolohov, like his fellow fighters, was not merciful, and ended the fight with a curse and flash of light. As the Prince of Darkness descended, Remus realised that he was the last of the Marauders to die. He would see the rest of them soon, and he would see his precious Dora, too…


	15. Frank Bryce

**A/N: Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you like this…**

**Disclaimer: Not mine!**

Frank Bryce had never thought himself courageous. In fact, he wasn't courageous. He was just the gardener at the old Riddle house. He always stayed out of things, never forming an opinion, not even in his mind, until that fateful night.

Something had woken him; he could hear sounds, people talking. _Just those darn kids again_ he thought to himself, annoyed.

But what he found was certainly not what he expected. There were no kids in sight. Instead, he was listening to someone, presumably a man, plot a murder in a cold, indifferent tone. Just listening to the voice sent shivers down Frank's spine, it wasn't that much different to any other, but there was an undercurrent of something purely evil in every word that was uttered.

Frank was not sure what to do, he didn't want to tell somebody what he had heard and be taken for an old deluded fool, but he was also aware that not to tell someone could lead to the death of this Harry person, whoever he was.

The decision was made for him when he looked down, and was horrified to see a huge snake slithering into the room from which the voice was emanating. If the sight of the snake wasn't enough, he then heard that terrifying voice hissing and snarling, seemingly conversing with the reptile in some foreign tongue.

The next words were the ones that really sent Franks heart racing, the ones that told him he wouldn't be alive much longer.

'Wormtail, Nagini tells me we have a visitor – the muggle caretaker is standing right outside the door. Invite him in, will you?' **(A/N: I don't think this is exactly like the book, I don't have my copy with me).**

Frank wasn't sure what the word muggle meant, but he was sure it was an insult. Indignation flowed through him, washing away most of his fear. How dare that man insult him so?

The door was opened by a small, rat-like man with dirty fingernails and a pale complexion. Frank saw an armchair, and he correctly assumed the speaker was sitting inside it. The last thing he heard was that voice: 'Avada Kedavra!'

With those words, Frank Bryce was taken from this world, never to return.


	16. Quirrel

**A/N: 101 reviews! Wow! I never thought there would be this many, and to get such a good response was amazing, so a great big thank you to everyone who reviewed! And of course, Happy New Year! I'm still taking requests…...*hint***

**Disclaimer: I would enjoy putting these up if I could think of smarter, funnier ways of saying: NOT MINE!**

Quirrel had been delighted when he'd met Voldemort, the thought of someone so powerful needing his help was beyond any of his dreams. He was a weak person from the start, and as time went on and Voldemorts hold over him grew, he became weaker.

When he was instructed to lull the three headed dog to sleep, and get past all the other obstacles, he had no idea that he was living his last night on Earth.

There may have been some instinctive uneasiness deep in his subconsciousness, but Quirrel was only focussed on getting the Stone, and resurrecting his master.

All through the year he had been observing the boy, and he had concluded that Harry was rather unremarkable, not an opponent but a piece of trash, to be disposed of. He was not afraid as Harry entered the chamber where the Mirror was waiting, but excited for what was to come.

Quirrel explained Snape's behaviour, barely concealing his impatience. He was anxious to get this over with: kill the boy, get the Stone, and move on to becoming a better, more powerful man (well, half man). At his masters request, he removed his turban. He felt Harrys fear, and anger, as he was confronted with the face of his parents' killer. But underneath the anger and fear was courage, and the desire to live. Quirrel snapped his fingers, and flames sprung up, barring the boys escape. He leapt forward, wrapping his hands around the boy's neck. He was so close. And then there was pain, unimaginable pain, like fire, all over his hands. Quirrel tried again, he had to have the Stone. He watched in horror as the pain consumed his hands, turning them to dust. It was spreading to the rest of his body, he was going to die! No, his master would not allow that, would he? It seemed he would.

Right then and there, Quirrels dreams turned to dust, just like his body. How could his master have betrayed him so?


	17. Peter Pettigrew

**For: MopCat and htbookreader1, both of whom requested this character. A special thank you to the two of you, your reviews make me smile!**

Death was something that everyone knew about and experienced in different ways. Sometimes, it was extremely painful. Other times, it was quick, and painless. In such an instance, the ones in the most pain were the ones left behind. Peter Pettigrew had no one to leave behind. He had betrayed those who were most important to him and now he had nothing, save the instinctive human desire to live. He didn't betray James on purpose, but what else could he do? Lily and James meant a lot to Peter, and he knew he shouldn't have betrayed them, but he was just so terrified. The guilt he felt for their deaths was with him till his dying day.

As a Death Eater, Peter thought that he would eventually outlive his usefulness and be killed by his master. What he couldn't have imagined was death by his own hand – literally.

He descended the stairs to the Malfoy dungeon, fighting a sense if foreboding that threatened to make him turn tail and bolt. But that would inevitably lead to his death, and this fear that he felt was irrational, surely? That crack was just the Weasley boy trying to create a distraction so he could try to rescue the Granger girl.

'Stand back' Wormtail squeaked from outside the dungeon, hoping his voice did not sound afraid, 'Stand away from the door. I am coming in.'

Peter gulped and used his wand to open the door. He squinted into the room for a few seconds, confused. The room was….empty? And there were lights on. His thoughts were diverted in the next moment, as Harry and Ron flung themselves at him. His wand arm was forced up by the red head, and Harry covered his mouth, preventing him from crying out for help.

Wormtail desperately struggled, managing to get his artificial hand wrapped around Potters throat. Lucius Malfoy called something from above, but Peter barely noticed, he was so focused on his grip on Harry's neck. He couldn't afford a lapse in concentration now; the cost would be his life.

Harry attempted to pull the fingers away, choking out a few words.

'You're going to kill me? After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!'

Those words seemed to have been a key, Peter's fingers no longer bent to his will; they were out of his control. He released Harry, and his eyes widened at this unexpected turn of events. The small man struggled even harder, to no avail. His wand was taken by Ron, but that no longer mattered. As he watched, helpless, his silver hand moved slowly towards his own throat.

'No!' The two boys shouted, now trying to help their enemy.

There was nothing they could do. The silver fingers closed around Wormtail's throat, tighter and tighter. His face was turning a horrid shade of blue, and there was fear etched in every line of his face. He dropped to his knees, getting weaker from oxygen deprivation. Peter gazed at the two boys who had tried to save his life, and wondered why. But this was no time for philosophical musings, he was about to die. In his last moment of clarity before his death, Peter realised something: All his life, he had been insecure, unable to be certain of anything or anyone. He had never truly trusted the Marauders friendship, not with James' constant jibes. And the Dark Lord criticized him constantly. Here though, was a certainty, the only one anyone was ever given: death. And with that thought, he succumbed to the void, the black nothingness that enveloped him like a blanket.


	18. Tom Riddle

**A/N: My last update before I go back to school! Happy Australia Day for last Sunday, even though most of you don't live in Australia…**

**This one is Tom Riddle from CoS - Thanks to Weezy6 for the request.**

**Disclaimer: Once my plan for world domination succeeds, I'll truthfully be able to say I own it all, until then….**

'You're dead, Harry Potter,' Riddle said, cool and calm. 'Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's doing, Potter? He's crying.'

There was a nagging feeling at the back of Riddle's mind as he spoke, as though there was something important he was missing, but he brushed it aside.

Tom watched as his greatest adversary blinked, the serpents venom spreading further through his body with every beat of his heart.

'I'm going to stand here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time. I'm in no hurry.'

Why would he be in a hurry, he was Lord Voldemort, and in a few short minutes, he would have the revenge he had craved these 11 long years. He would be victorious- the one true Lord.

The boy was silent, due to the poison, no doubt.

'So ends the famous Harry Potter. Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear mud blood mother soon, Harry…she brought you 12 years of borrowed time, but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must.'

As Tom watched, Harry shook his head, as if to clear it, which would not be possible if he were dying. Like a bolt of lightning, what he had been missing sprung to the front of his mind – that interfering pet of Dumbledore's.

'Get away, bird,' he snarled, 'get away from him, I said _get away_!'

Fury similar to that which had been boiling in him all these years rose up, and he directed it at the bird, forcing it away from the boy.

'Phoenix tears,' he said quietly. 'Of course…healing powers…I forgot.'

Tom raised his eyes from Harry's arm and fixed them instead on his face. Those bright green eyes gazed back at him, young but defiant, with courage rarely seen in one his age. There was some of that courage in the Weasley girl, which was why she was able to resist him enough to throw the diary down a toilet. At first he had been annoyed that the phoenix had saved Potter's life, but now he was glad, for now it would be just the two of them – a terrified 12 year old of mediocre skill, against the teenage form of the most powerful, dangerous wizard of all time.

'But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter…you and me…' he spoke in a low voice, but Harry could hear the menace behind his words.

He raised the wand, ready to end it once and for all, but he was distracted by the reappearance of that blasted bird. It flew overhead, beating its wings hard and fast, moving in a blur of scarlet and gold, before dropping something into the boys lap. Riddle stared in surprise at his old diary. Faster than Tom could react, Harry plunged the basilisk fang into the diary. As the ink poured out in torrents, so did his life force – the memories within.

There was nothing Riddle could do as he felt himself being torn apart, he screamed and struggled, to no avail. _You have not won, boy! Lord Voldemort does not give up so easily. _He then vowed, in a fashion eerily similar to the Terminator: _I'll be back_.


	19. Tonks

**A/N: This one is Tonks, on the request of violet-phoenix- rose. Hope you like it! Is everyone else as excited about the HBP movie as me? Even though it's not coming out for like 6 months... Thank you very much for reading.**

**Disclaimer: HP is divine, but it's not mine, sorry about the rhyme, I won't do it next time! **

Ravens are beautiful. Tonks thought so anyway, which was why she had chosen black hair to wear into the Battle. Some would have thought it a bit morbid, black being the colour that you would wear to a funeral, but Tonks wanted to do something random and totally unexpected. She was good at that sort of thing. As she ran though the ruined halls of Hogwarts, she tried to block out the horrors around her, whilst still making sure she wasn't hit by stray spell, and she did this by playing and replaying her last memory of her husband in her mind.

Flashback…

'_Dora, you know there's going to be a Battle, the Final Battle at Hogwarts,' he had said to her._

_She had nodded, her eyes fixed on his face, whilst Teddy slept not too far away._

'_I know you're not going to like it, but you need to stay behind, and be here with Teddy.'_

_She began to protest, as he had known she would. 'How can you say that? When you'll be gone, and you might not – you could - .' she was unable to finish the sentence, her emotions showing in her voice, but Remus understood._

'_Tonks, Dora, listen to me! I promise you that I'll come back! I won't leave you, but I won't be able to go there and fight knowing that you're somewhere else, in mortal danger!'_

_So she had nodded, rejecting a teary farewell in favour of a simple 'I love you.'_

_He had replied with 'And I you,' and pulled her into a kiss. He pulled away and was gone._

After Ginny had told her Remus was last seen duelling Dolohov, Tonks sprinted off in search of one or the other, hoping with every fibre of her being that he was okay. She saw him, not too far away from her, still locked in battle with Dolohov. She was about to help him, when Bellatrix appeared in front of her, cackling madly. Her Aunt aimed curse after curse at her, exhibiting that same madness she had shown when they had been transporting Harry to the Burrow. Seeing Tonks die was her objective, and she would not fail. Dora's heart rate picked up and a surge of adrenaline rushed through her veins as the fight intensified. She moved faster and faster, her sole aim now becoming simply to stay alive and dodge the spells aimed at her. But she was not fast enough. A beam of light hit her square in the chest, and she fell soundlessly. _Teddy,_ she thought, _remember, Mummy loves you…_


	20. Bloody Baron

**A/N: My computer froze, so I had to rewrite this one! Grr…anyway, we're up to chapter 20!! It's the weekend, as you all know; hope you had a good one! Mine's been okay, I've sat at home reading books, oh and I watched an episode of Doctor Who yesterday (look at what you did, Demelza, you got me hooked!!)…Just a random question: how many of you out there like chocolate? I know I love it…de tout facon, on with the story! Allons-y! Oh and this one is for glrasshopper, who suggested the house ghosts. First up, the Bloody Baron.**

**Disclaimer: I found a really cool one of these a while ago, but I forgot it, so I'll go with the typical: not mine!**

'Hello!'

'Oh my God! How did you find me?' Helena didn't look too happy to see him, which was understandable; she had run all this way just to get away from him, and her mother. But here he was, come to fetch her on her mother's request. Rowena was on her deathbed, and the last thing she had asked for before she died was to talk to her daughter, to forgive her for her betrayal. Helena was looking at him as if there was no worse sight in the world for her, and that wounded him. He loved her, yet his love was unrequited. Despite her having told him so numerous times, he refused to give up. He was getting quite frustrated with her, what woman in her right mind would reject such an offer? There were not many men who would follow a woman this far, and pledge such devotion.

'Helena- ,' he began.

'Don't!' she interrupted, 'just don't! I know why you're here, and I've told you before, there's no hope for us!'

'Helena!' he tried again, her words had wounded him, causing him to sound harsher than he intended.

'Baron, this has gone too far! Enough, I shall not tolerate it any longer!'

That was the last straw; those words pushed him over the edge. He had always been a man with a short temper and Helena had an uncanny way of infuriating him faster than anyone else. He never wanted to hurt her, he just lost control. The knife in his belt somehow found its way into his hand, before being plunged into her stomach. He lunged again and again, thinking only to silence the hurtful words that came from her mouth. As the knife carved into her flesh, blood spouted from the wounds like a fountain, a gory, scarlet fountain.

When he saw what he had done, the Baron was overcome with remorse.

'Helena, I'm sorry,' he whispered, before sinking his knife, stained with her blood, into his own heart.


	21. Bellatrix

**A/N: Everyone else seems to be posting on the weekend; I might as well join the club….Last time (I think it was last time) I asked if you guys liked chocolate. This time I'll try…what's your favourite colour? Hope no one finds the questions annoying and, as always, reviews are appreciated!**

**This one will be Bellatrix, as requested by TheRugMaster, Ayala Steelfire and Rose-Jane-Anne. All your reviews and requests are valued!**

**Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

Defeat was a foreign word to Bellatrix, it always had been. She knew what it meant of course, she had just never experienced it. From the time she was little, and her parents had drilled the family values into her head, she realised that these included winning. And that meant all the time, coming second would not be tolerated, even if it was by a hairs breadth.

Perhaps if her parents had not been so strict with that and things like erasing all traces of non Pure-Blood from the family, Bellatrix would not be the person she was, and would not have died the death she did. For, as all you readers would know, hearing something all the time, repeated every single day of your life by the people who influence you most, be it for good or bad tends to make you believe it. That's what happened to Bellatrix, and it led to her jumping at the chance to serve the Dark Lord, and advance his cause in any way possible. Hopelessly devoted to her master, she was a witch with skill that few could match. Certainly, she never expected danger to come in the form of plump housewife Molly Weasley, but as Bella had learned the hard way, throwing the unexpected in your path was what life did best, and she thought she was ready for anything. Yet Lord Voldemort's last remaining Death Eater had not counted on the fierce love of a mother for her child, and the power that love gave a person. And so she cackled in her mad way as Molly shouted: 'NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!'

Her new challenger threw off her cloak as she came forward and Bella watched alertly, this woman meant business, even if she didn't know what she was getting herself into. Bella smiled as the curses started flying, confident the fight would be finished quickly. When it wasn't, her face changed and she snarled in fury, who did this woman think she was?

Obviously something special, as she stopped any who tried to help her with the words 'no! Get back! Get _back_! She is mine!'

Well, Bellatrix would soon rid her of that notion as she had done for many others, and she would do it gladly.

'What will happen to your children when I've killed you?' She taunted. Dumbledore had been correct; playing with her food was the part she loved best, riling them up right before she ended it. 'When mummy's gone the same way as Freddy?'

Molly was incensed. 'You- will- never- touch- our- children- again!' Every word was shouted, and they echoed loudly around the otherwise silent hall as this plump house wife dealt the final blow. If Bellatrix knew any better, she would have been able to guess what was coming, and she wouldn't have been laughing, but the again, had she known, she wouldn't have died and perhaps the outcome of the Battle would have been different. Perish Bella did, with an insane smile plastered across her face and the thought of victory on her mind.


	22. Grey Lady

**A/N: I went to see 'The Unborn' on the weekend, and I LOVED it! What did you guys do on the weekend? Also (I just remembered) I learnt how to say the colours in French! Thank you once again to everyone who reviewed. This one is The Grey Lady, for glrasshopper.**

**Disclaimer: I share my ownership of nothing with my fellow fans. Because I'm nice like that. (Stolen from AzureFalls). Did you see that? I just disclaimed my disclaimer! Thank you for pointing that out, Gemma!**

I was standing in the forest when I heard a voice behind me. 'Hello.'

The voice was deep and I recognized it at once as that of the Baron. I whipped around to face him, my eyes cold as ice, my expression haughty. 'Oh my God, how did you find me?' I thought I was hidden enough, that he at least would not find me but it seems I was wrong. I hate being wrong.

'Helena-' the Baron started, and I could tell from the look on his face and the tone of his voice where he was going. I would have none of it.

'Don't!' I snapped, 'just don't, I know why you're here and I've told you before, there's no hope for us!' For years he had been persisting in trying to win my affections, despite the fact that I had told him time and time again that I felt nothing for him. I suppose I could have been nicer, but I was past such trivial things as social etiquette. You would be to had you been pursued in such a way. I was also worried that something I said or did might reveal where I had placed the diadem. If it did and he found out and took it from me, I don't think I could bear it.

'Helena!' The Baron said again, sounding far angrier than he had before.

'Baron this has gone too far! Enough! I shall not tolerate it any longer!'

As I watched, his face seemed to change, it was like a mask was stripped away. He went from merely irritated to murderously furious, and the expression on his face brought my heart jumping to my throat. I didn't have a chance to say anything before I saw his hand, wielding a knife rise towards my stomach. There was a pain greater than any she had ever felt before, and then again, and again and again, it felt as if the pain would never end. And then mercifully, I took one final, shallow breath, and moved no more.


	23. Fat Friar

**A/N: Hmm…sometimes I have tons to write in here, but other times there's not much at all. Well, I've had a cold, and now I'm on holidays! I watched Gran Torino yesterday and I bawled my eyes out! What have you guys been up to? This one will be the Fat Friar. I don't think we're told how she dies, so I'm going to make it up as I go along…hope you don't mind!**

**Disclaimer: You know when you see something out of the corner of your eye and you look and there's nothing there? That's what I own. (Again, I stole that from AzureFalls).**

**Random one**

The Friar was sitting at his desk, writing a prayer, when the door to his study opened. He was surprised to see Sane Sally walking towards him. Sane Sally was a patient at the nearby hospital, whom the Friar came to visit occasionally. She was called Sane Sally because she was usually saner than all the other patients, except when she had one of her episodes, which was what appeared to be happening now, judging by the glazed look in her eyes. 'Sally?'

'Hello Friar, how are you doing?' A perfectly normal question. Well it would have been, if not for the crazed tone of her voice and the way she giggled after every word.

'Good thank you Sally. Why are you carrying scissors?' asked the Friar, for indeed in her right hand she clutched a pair of scissors. It appeared she had attempted to cut her hair, as the dirty blonde locks were set this way and that, looking very strange.

'Oh, you'll find out very soon!' The Friar didn't like the sound of that, and reached for his wand.

'Uh-uh,' Sally said, waving a reprimanding finger at him, 'Sally knew you would try to use that stick of yours, whatever it is, so she took it away.'

The Friar was trembling now, visibly frightened. 'Sally, what do you want?'

'Sally wants to make everything better and get rid of the monk with his bad magic!'

'O-okay…'

'No!' Sally screamed, suddenly seeming to lose control. She lunged at the Friar, scissors outstretched. He tried to dodge but was only partly successful. They didn't hit his heart, but somewhere around his stomach.

'Sally, please…' he begged, but Sally just laughed. She wrapped her long, pale fingers around his throat, squeezing for all she was worth. As darkness descended, the Friar thought, what a strange way to die…

**Serious one**

Not many people knew how the Friar died, for there wasn't many people he spoke to. This wasn't because he didn't like people, or his death was a touchy subject, more because as a monk in the monastery he had grown used to being by himself and he saw no reason to change as he roamed the castle of Hogwarts for eternity. If one asked though, this is the story they would hear:

"I was alive at around the time when people were being burned at the stake for practising witchcraft. What many people seem to overlook is that it was not only women who were convicted and killed, but men also. I was one of those men. I was performing a simple spell in my study one day, thinking I was alone, when I heard a rustling noise behind me. I looked behind me and saw the retreating form of one of the village children. He had seen me doing magic and was no doubt off to inform his parents. Not half an hour later, I had soldiers knocking on my door, waiting to arrest me. They threw me into a prison where I was guarded constantly, as though my captors were afraid I would escape. You may ask why I did not Apparate out of there. Well, the answer is this: I tried, oh how I tried, but there must have been enchantments placed around the area, for I was not successful. I was put on "trial" if you could call it that, and sentenced to death by drowning. They threw me into the water, tying me to a stone so that I could not swim to the surface.

"Oblivion was a long time coming and during that time I thought long and hard about things I hadn't thought of before, and I realised that I hadn't achieved much in this life so I decided to become a ghost. That way, I would never run out of time. I was right, I've never felt that there is not enough time to do anything; to the contrary, I've felt there is too much time. Forever looms before me everyday, waiting to be filled with love and hate and hope and despair and sadness and joy. Waiting to be filled with _life"_.

**A/N: Sorry, as we don't really know what happened to him, I thought I could get creative...**


	24. Alice Longbottom

**A/N: I have a sort of confession…I've gotten a ton of requests for lots of different characters, but I can never decide which ones to write. Also, when I do write them, I freak out that they'll go OOC and everyone will hate it, so if it looks like I'm sticking to minor characters, that's why. Also, if you requested a character and I forgot to put you in the A/N, I'm terribly sorry, just drop me a note and I'll fix it. This will be Alice Longbottom for Wonderfall. Hope you all have a Happy Easter!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

They would come and they would go, those Healers, giving her different medicines and foods. Alice would get used to them, and then they would leave. Two people were constant in her life, the same two would always come visit, around the same time every single year. An old lady who was rather crabby and a young boy with a round face. They seemed familiar and important to Alice, but she could not remember why. It was like the information was stored somewhere in her brain, somewhere deep within the recesses of her memory. All the information she wanted was right there, tantalisingly close, but as soon as she tried to grasp it, it would slip through her fingers, like smoke.

Every time the boy visited, she tried to make him understand that although she wasn't quite sure who he was, he was important to her, and she knew that. Alice was unable to speak, and so she used the only form of communication she could – she handed him wrappers from chewing gum, hoping he would understand the significance of her gesture.

Alice died a natural death, of old age in the hospital where she had spent most of her life. He was there – that round faced boy who had become a handsome man, with his children who didn't seem to understand what was going on. Frank was lying next to her, his time was not far off, indeed, he passed over not a few minutes after his wife, as if he thought that by relinquishing his ties with this world, he freed himself of the cage in which he had been trapped for so long.

Alice felt the round faced boy come take her hand, he whispered comforting things to her, and although she could not comprehend the words themselves, the positive feelings of love and calm were not lost on her, and as her eyes drifted shut, a small smile graced her lips.

Alice Longbottom was ready for whatever awaited her. She saw more than they knew, and she was lonely, in her silent prison, with only the whispers of her own mind to comfort her. Death offered a release, and release was all Alice wanted.


	25. Frank Longbottom

**A/N: Last time I checked we were at 190 reviews, think we can make it to 200? It would be really cool – cyber cookies to everyone if we do! This one will be Frank Longbottom, hope it's not too similar to Alice…I have an iPod! How exciting!**

**Disclaimer: You know when you're really hungry and your stomach grumbles and it really hurts and you want food, but you can't find any? I own the contents of that stomach. Otherwise known as: nothing!**

Everyone thought Frank Longbottom died in his sleep, but what they didn't know was that he was drugged. He died of an overdose because Heather, a healer at St Mungo's gave him a sedative and "accidentally" prescribed enough to kill him. She did that because she could see that Frank's wife Alice was on her last legs – and for Frank, altered though he was, his would not be a proper life if it were one that did not include his wife. Heather checked that she was alone and would not be overheard before explaining her plan to her two patients even though she was not sure that they would understand. She need not have worried, despite not being able to really communicate; they managed to respond in their own way. Frank nodded enthusiastically and Alice gave a gentle, understanding smile, and for a moment they both looked sane.

With that, Heather left the room and sent an owl to Frank and Alice's son, telling him to come quickly, for his parents had not much time left.

Neville came a few hours late, accompanied by his wife, Hannah and his young daughter Alice Junior. She had inherited her grandmas round features and her mother's blonde hair and infectious smile.

'Grandma!' She cried, running to clasp Alice's hands. The older woman gave mo response but that did not seem to faze her granddaughter who just chattered on merrily.

Neville let go of Hannah's hand which he had been holding to go and stand next to his father.

'Goodbye,' he whispered, 'I'll miss you.'

Frank was aware of his son standing there and he desperately wished he could reply or at least somehow communicate with his only son who had dutifully visited himself and Alice each and every year, adding some light to their lives, giving them something to look forward to.

Neville moved across to speak to Alice. Frank heard him say something and then felt rather than saw Alice pass onto the next world. He was feeling increasingly groggy from the sedative and hoped it would really kick in soon. His last thought was that he would soon be joining Alice in the afterlife, or whatever lay beyond.


	26. James Potter I

**A/N: Yes, we made it to 200 reviews!! Thank you soo much, everyone!! What did you all do this weekend? I did heaps, in comparison to the usual…I went shopping with Daina, and I tried gyoza – Japanese dumplings – and they tasted like dim sims. I also finished the book I was reading – 19 Minutes by Jodi Picoult….This one is James for Cassandra 30, BiteMe21 and amaramichelle…**

**Disclaimer: You know when you've been sitting down for a while and you get up and your leg is numb? I own the feeling in that leg – you guessed it: zilch.**

BANG!

And the door burst open, startling and then terrifying the small family as the realisation of their coming deaths dawned. James knew who was at the door and that there was no chance of his own survival beyond this night. There was a chance, however, the he could delay Voldemort long enough or Lily and Harry to escape and live on. Their survival was of the utmost importance. With that in mind, he ran recklessly out of the living room, forgetting his wand in his haste.

'Lily, it's him!' He called to his wife, knowing she would understand what he was talking about. 'Take Harry and run, I'll hold him off!'

How he was going to do that was a complete mystery, especially without a wand or any means of defending himself. Voldemort was wearing a hood so James could not see his face, yet he could see the pale, long fingered hand clutching a wand as it rose slowly to point at his chest.

In a few seconds his whole life – well, its defining moments – flashed through his mind, looking like one of those Muggle films that Lily had told him she used to like when she was younger.

He saw his fifth birthday, when he was given his first broomstick – the start of what would become a lifelong passion. The feeling of flying, rising above the Earth, relishing the feel of the wind on his face and through his hair and being able to leave all of his problems behind, on the ground. Next came the day he got his Hogwarts letter and the excitement that had coursed through him, even though he'd known it was coming for so long.

Following that were his first day at Hogwarts, where he'd met Lily and Sirius and Remus and…Peter (it almost hurt to think his name now, knowing what he must have done) and his first transformation. There were only three more – the day Lily had agreed to go out with him after she had rejected him so many times, the day he got married – how beautiful Lily looked walking down the aisle and finally – the day Harry was born.

The memories stopped at the sound of high, cold laughter. There was a blinding flash of green and James Potters' unmoving body dropped to the ground.


	27. Lily Evans

**A/N: This one will be Lily Evans, or Potter, as she came to be known…hope you like it! I have a music assignment due today, but I haven't done it…**

**Disclaimer: You know when you have a tube of toothpaste and you're squeezing and squeezing, but no toothpaste comes out? I own the contents of that tube of toothpaste.**

_The end of another day_, Lily thought, sighing contentedly. She walked into the lounge room, and the sight of James entertaining a laughing Harry brought a smile to her face.

'Come on you two, time for bed,' she said, her emotions evident in her voice and her twinkling green eyes.

'Did you hear that Harry? Mum said it's time for bed. We'd better to do what she says, or she'll get angry,' James joked to his son.

Pushing her thick red hair behind her shoulders, Lily took Harry into her arms and walked up the stairs and into the bedroom.

'Let's get you ready for bed,' she cooed.

She was standing over the cot, about to place her son inside it when she heard a BANG which was the door being slammed open. Her heart pounded as she realized what must be happening. There was a flash of light and maniacal laughter that scared Lily to her very bones. James was dead – she allowed herself a moment of sadness to mourn him and then switched her mind to the family she had left – her son whom she had to protect.

She heard someone ascending the stairs and a second later the door swung open, the boxes she had pushed against it in desperation having been casually levitated aside.

Lily placed Harry in his cot and stood in front of him protectively, intending to bargain for his life – Voldemort could have her, if only he'd let Harry go – though Voldemort was not known for his negotiation of mercy.

'Please kill me, not Harry!' She begged.

'Stand aside, silly girl.'

'Have mercy, please not Harry!'

I'll tell you one last time – stand aside!' Voldemort was getting impatient now. Lily stood her ground, not moving, though there were tears making their way down her cheeks.

She kept her eyes locked on his hood where his eyes would be as he opened his mouth and shouted, 'Avada Kedavra!'

Lily hoped with all her heart that Harry would somehow survive and grow to be someone she would be proud of.


	28. Lord Voldemort

**Author's Note: This one is Voldemort, as requested by: jklmon, sums96, TwilighterForever1471, Ayala Steelfire, bleedingRose11 and Morgan WhiteFang. Phew, Voldemort sure seems to be quite the popular guy… **

Here it was – victory, closer than it had ever been. It tasted bittersweet on his tongue, as he had thought it over so many times before, and somehow the boy ended up finding a way to cheat Death.

They had exchanged words – with Potter attempting to unnerve him, but what the boy did not realise was that such a thing was impossible. If you had no trust in anyone, how could they surprise or disappoint you? Admittedly, Severus had seemed more faithful than most, but all that had been a lie.

This was what it came down to in the end, after all these years – the puny teenager facing down the mighty Lord. Was there any doubt who would win? Even if Harry really had destroyed all the Horcruxes, which was highly unlikely, fear did not reach its cold hand to grip him – maybe when you neglected to feel for so long, your mind forgot how.

That was proved wrong in the next moment when he and his opponent screamed at the same time.

'Avada Kedavra!'

'Expelliarmus!'

To Voldemort's surprise, his own spell ricocheted and he felt a pang of fear, fury and disbelief as darkness claimed him ever more.


	29. Nearly Headless Nick

**A/N: T****his one will be Nearly Headless Nick, for glrasshopper. One more thing, I think I read somewhere that he was mistaken for a log, and was decaptitated accordingly. Regardless, I'm changing it a bit, hope you don't mind.**

**Disclaimer: I own what you see with both eyes closed. Plus Celia, I think.**

Imagine having to bear the burden of a head that was attached, literally, by a thread for all eternity. Well, Nearly Headless Nick was stuck not only with that, but also with a broken heart. The broken heart had not been whole for a long time, but that didn't make the pain any easier to withstand.

As a young wizard, through all his years at Hogwarts, Nick's best friend had been Celia Stockholm, a witch with a beautiful face, and even lovelier personality. Eyes such a dark shade of blue that they were almost violet, alabaster skin, high cheekbones and glossy, caramel coloured hair, Celia was a beauty who could hang around with anyone she wanted. Yet she chose him – Nick, over all those other people.

They stayed friends right through to graduation, after which Nick's biggest regret was that he hadn't told her he loved her. He heard a few months later that she was married to a Muggle who treated her horribly.

He went to visit her, after trying extremely hard to find her – almost as if she didn't want to be found – only to be confronted with the fact that the man she had married, an oaf called Roger, dominated her completely, to the point where she had given up magic. Despite all that, when Nick questioned her, she maintained that she loved him.

'_No, you don't!' Nick had protested, 'he treats you like dirt!'_

'_Just leave, please, Nick and don't come back,' she tearfully pushed him away._

_He couldn't refuse her, and though every step caused him pain, he walked away._

Some time later, he heard that she had passed away. That was the last straw, and he gave up magic from then on. He became a page boy and then a squire, completing the steps needed to become a knight.

His sorrow caused him to be reckless in battle, and as a result, his death was one that could have been avoided. Nick wanted to die, but there was another part of him that objected, believing that to die would be to take the easy way out.

A sword thrust towards him in the frenzy of battle, and he was not quick enough to stop it. His neck exploded in a plethora of pain. He expected to die straight away, but the axe must have been blunt. It struck again, and again, and again and finally, he died. But instead of darkness, he was brought into an eternity of being trapped in the ether between life and death.


	30. Aragog

**A/N: This one will be Aragog, because he was the first character that came into my head. How are you all? I went to the optometrist today, and she tried to take a photo of my eye, but I kept blinking so it didn't work…I really should be doing homework right now, but I can't be bothered. I'm such a lazy person…hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: that's what I own.**

The old spider knew his time was coming. He had felt it for a while, the ache in his bones that gradually got worse as time went on. He wasn't worried about his family – he and his mate Sarah Shelob had raised them well, and they could take care of themselves – but he was worried about two things: the fact that mere seconds after he passed on, his family would be fighting for the tastiest part of him, and Hagrid. Aragog was eternally grateful to Hagrid for everything he had done, and would never dream of eating him, but the rest of his family had no such feelings, and would think nothing of consuming him.

Aragog felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature and he felt the beating of his heart, getting faster and faster,a s though if it reached a high enough velocity it would never have to stop, it could avoid the inevitable. That was impossible of course, but as much as his mind believed that, there was still that inextinguishable spark of hope alive in his heart. He supposed it was that very spark that was keeping him on this Earth – keeping anyone here, really – because it gives us something to strive for and look forward to. Even if that something happened to be an action as simple as drawing another breath.

'It's okay,' Shelob comforted him, communicating by clicking her pincers, 'you can let go now, and I'll join you soon.'

Aragog was shocked; was she asking him to give up the fight to live? In a way, it seemed she was giving him permission, allowing him to cast aside the things that were worrying him and, as she had put it, "let go."

'Thank you,' he replied in the same pincer clicking manner.

Shelob backed away, and Aragog closed his eyes. He didn't want his final thought to be one of fear, so he focused his mind instead on the time when Hagrid had freed him. A wave of contentment washed over the spider as he inhaled for the last time.

Seconds later, as Aragog had predicted, his family were ready to feast, but they were stopped in their tracks by Hagrid, who had come to the rescue of the great spider yet again.


	31. Nicholas Flamel

**A/N: How are you all? Thank you for your wonderful reviews, they never fail to put a smile on my face! Yesterday, I watched Becoming Jane, a movie about Jane Austen, her life and the like, and I really enjoyed it. I have a history essay due tomorrow that I've half finished. So once I've done this, I'm going to do that… I see we're about 30 reviews away from 300, how exciting! Well, to me, anyway…This one will be Nicholas Flamel.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing, nada, zip, zilch. All equals the same thing: what I own.**

Random

Nicholas was going to die sooner than his wife, Perenelle because he had gone longer without the Elixir of Life. They both knew it and secretly Nicholas was glad – he didn't think he could bear living without her.

'Perenelle,' he said quietly, 'I'm off to bed.'

He didn't have to say any more, she understood, acknowledging him with a nod.

Nicholas flopped onto his bed and closed his eyes. He must have slipped into some sort of comatose state between waking and sleeping because he was seeing things. Some primal instinct told him he was not dead, but almost there.

He was standing in the middle of…limbo. Well, it seemed like limbo, just a great area of nothingness with no colour, no substance whatsoever. Looking around, he saw two doors, one behind him and one in front.

There was a bright light radiating from the door in front of him. Suddenly, both doors opened, to reveal a person behind each of them. His wife was behind the one to his rear, beckoning him back, screaming and waving her fists. Most people thought Perenelle was a gentle soul, a loving wife. Most people would be wrong. In reality, she was a grumpy old hag and he would be glad to be rid of her.

From the other door, Dumbledore was smiling serenely at him.

'Bye Perenelle!' He smiled, before calling, 'Dumbledore, I'll be there soon.'

And so, Nicholas Flamel went to sleep and never woke up.

Serious

Death was knocking impatiently on Nicholas Flamel's door, yet he fought it off with the last of his strength, to gain just a little more time. Nicholas Flamel, or the Alchemyst as he was known in some circles, was not afraid of Death. You'd think that one who had taken the elixir of Life for so long would be afraid to die, but it was not the case. Six hundred years is quite a long time, during which quite a lot of thinking can be done.

He had come to the conclusion that, as Dumbledore had said, "To the well organised mind, Death is but a next great adventure". And oh, what an adventure he was sure to have!

'Perenelle,' he whispered weakly, 'I'll see you on the other side.'

She nodded from her rocking chair beside his bed, giving him a watery smile. He breathed in deeply, reflecting on his long life – perhaps the longest of any human, ever. He had been through his fair share of good and bad experiences, and learnt a lot through all his years. He was completely and utterly content.

With that inner sense of peace, Nicholas Flamel was welcomed by Death, passing easily from this world to the next.


	32. Scrimgeour

**A/N: 281! It's a big ask, but do you think we could get to 300 before the next chapter? How have all your weekends been? Mine's been great! I went to the market, and brought 4 books for 5 dollars each, and I had these DELICIOUS pancakes!! This one will be Scrimgeour for Smartie6 (Shelby) who gave me the idea in one of our awesome PM's. **

**Disclaimer: Reviews are the only profit I make from these stories.**

'Bella, we found him!' Rodolphus shouted.

Rufus, now the ex-Minister for Magic, groaned in pain from his position against the wall. He knew what was coming and he hoped for a quick, easy end, though most likely his hoping would be futile. He heard a mad female cackle from somewhere above him and braced himself for all sorts of pain.

No matter how much Scrimgeour mentally prepared himself, it didn't help. Bellatrix cried out gleefully, anticipating the pain she would inflict, 'Crucio!'

Her victim screamed as her spell hit its mark. It felt like knives, slicing through him, carving him inside and out. It was like fire, burning him more and more until there was nothing left to burn. It was overall, worse than anything he had ever felt before. Although the pain was not really there, with no visible wound to speak of, it made no difference once the spell had been cast. Suddenly the pain ended, leaving his body tingling as it recovered.

'Where is Harry Potter?' Rodolphus asked.

Was this what they wanted from him? If that was the case, Scrimgeour would make sure they did not find out through him if it was the last thing he did. As it turned out, it was.

'Are you going to answer?' Bellatrix hissed at him. He glared at her, full of hatred, not saying a word.

'Very well.' The evil contained in those two syllables should have been a warning as to what was to come.

This time, the pain was no easier to bear; in contrast, it seemed to have become worse after his brief respite. It went on for longer this time, and try as he might, Rufus could not stop himself from shouting out. He shouted until his voice was hoarse, and when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. It was only then that his tormentor saw fit to relieve him.

'Changed your mind yet?' Her eyes glittered maliciously, and though every aching bone in his body urged him to reply in the affirmative, he shook his head. He wasn't sure what was stopping him from simply telling her. Pride, maybe? Or the knowledge that whether or not he opened his mouth, he was going to die here, at her hands.

The game of cat and mouse, pain and interrogation continued for a while, until the Death Eater got bored. 'I have had enough. You are of no use to me.'

She carelessly waved her wand, and a flash of green hit him square in the chest. It was at that moment he realised just why he had not told her. It was not pride, or acceptance of his death, but the understanding that what he was doing was _right_.


	33. Dorcas Meadowes

**A/N: OMG!! We're over 300 reviews!!! OMG!!! *squeals* No, not really, I'm not the squealy type in the least. At least, I don't think I am. Anyway, thank you all SO much for getting me (no, us) to 300 reviews, it put a huge smile on my face, and we all love smiles. Another anyway, this will be Dorcas Meadowes, for shmillie. Hope you like it! How are you all? I just improvised with this one, as we weren't given much information about her.**

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, but sometimes pink, I don't own HP, so don't kick up a stink. Eh, not my best, but it gets the message across. **

A telltale crack was all that was needed to put her instantly on guard. Her wand was clutched so tight in her hand that her fingers were going white. She spun around faster and faster, desperate to find him before he found her.

'Dorcas,' a voice hissed from the shadows, 'Dorcas, you'll never find me. You'll try, oh yes you will, but you won't succeed, yet your death will come quick.'

'Show yourself Voldemort, I'm not afraid of you.' Brave her words may have been, but she was betrayed by the beads of sweat that threatened to trickle down from her forehead into her blue eyes.

'You're feisty, aren't you? We shall play a game, you and I. It's called cat and mouse – you're the mouse, I'm the cat.'

'Stupefy!' She cried frantically, trying to lure him out. It did not good. Her black hair was plastered to her scalp. Her breathing came in quick short bursts.

'Fun, isn't it?'

She was not having fun, not at all. She had never been more terrified, yet she vowed not to show it. 'Stupefy!' She cast her spell in another direction, again with no success.

'Missed me again, Dorcas. Try looking into the mirror.' As soon as he spoke, the room changed, the white walls transforming into a circle of mirrors, and reflected in every one was her tormentor. But which one reflected the truth?

The Dark Lord smiled, and the false copies smiled too. Her heart was thudding in her chest, its speed increasing with her fear. She had to find the real Voldemort. Wait. There!

To the left, one of the Voldemorts had moved an arm, without all the others. It had been positioned in such a way that he was not mimicked by his reflections.

'I see into your mind, Dorcas. I know what you fear. I know everything. Every joy you've ever experienced, every tear you've ever shed. Every move you're going to make.'

She gritted her teeth – let's see if he could anticipate this! 'Expelliarmus!'

Her spell was immediately countered with a flash of green. It hit Dorcas in the chest, and her back arched as she fell gracefully to the ground. If anything, she was proud to have died fighting.

**A/N: I took the bit about the mirrors from Twilight… **


	34. Basilisk

**A/N: Just a quick note about the last chapter: Dorcas Meadowes was a member of the original Order of the Phoenix, she was in the picture that Moody showed Harry in OotP. Once again, thank you so much for all the reviews! Hope you enjoy this – it will be that Basilisk from CoS. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine!**

Blue lights. That was all the basilisk could see after Fawkes pecked its eyes out. It had emerged upon the call of its master, as it always had. Little knowing that venturing forth would lead to its death.

Being blind was the worst thing the serpent had ever experienced. Its eyes were its number one weapon. A single glance from them could send a victim straight into Deaths dark embrace. The snake wanted nothing more than to slide back into its hole, but it had no choice in the matter.

The evil boy hissed at him in Parseltongue, ordering him to kill the other, the one who was afraid. And so he did as he was bidden, or at least he tried to.

The boy ran away as fast as he was able, slipping and sliding on the wet floor, and the great serpent followed, relying entirely on his sense of hearing and smell.

It darted forward in an attempt to hit the boy. He failed, but before he could rear back and try again, he felt a searing pain in the roof of its mouth. As the sword tore into the flesh of the reptile, its fang plunged deep into the arm of its intended victim.

Back spots began to obscure the snake's vision, before the darkness fully enveloped it and it moved no more.


	35. Karkaroff

**A/N: New chapter, here we come! This one will be Karkaroff. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, or Alerted this story, it is much appreciated! Just a quick note question/request thing: I'm running out of people who've died during the books. Could anyone help with that? Anyway, how are you all? Hope you're wonderful, and you enjoy this! – Kitty.**

**Disclaimer: Please, can't you see? HP is not owned by me!**

Popcorn. When he was a boy, Igor's mother would always make him popcorn. That was his strongest memory from childhood. His mother would don her floral apron and smile widely at him as she waved her wand to heat the corn kernels. None of these memories contained his father as he was barely ever home and when he was he had no time for his son, only for his stash of Fire Whiskey.

Delia, his mother, died when he was in his fourth year of school, fourteen years old, and as a result the young boy was left alone with his father. This did little for his self-esteem – how would you feel if the person who was supposed to be your role model never gave you the time of day? – and he was left feeling extremely insecure. Like Snape, and many others, he was led by his insecurity down the wrong path – the path to being a Death Eater. When the Dark Lord fell, he instantly regretted his decision, knowing that punishment was likely to be harsh. But when Voldemort rose again and came to find him, the penalty was much worse – death.

At the very least he could be thankful that the end had come quickly; there had been no repeated torture like he had anticipated. Igor was not important enough to be killed by Voldemort himself. He sent Bellatrix and Narcissa instead. They seemed impatient that day. They came up behind him, Bellatrix with a cruel grin on her face, Narcissa looking as though she just wanted to do what had to be done and get out of there. Impatient they may have been, but Bella still wanted to inflict a little pain. Luckily, her sister persuaded her not to. As Bellatrix's lips formed the words that would be his death, Igor cast is mind away to a happier time.

_Mother, I'll see you soon! _


	36. Barty Crouch Sr

**A/N: Monday, the start of another week. Only Monday June 22, 2009 we're ever going to have. 5 days left of school until there's a two week holiday, I can't wait. How are you all? Have a nice weekend? I watched some video footage about the HBP video game, it looks really good.**

**Disclaimer: You know when you shake a salt shaker over and over again, and not a single grain of salt is left? I own the contents of that salt shaker.**

The Imperius curse had a funny effect on people. Those with little will power had difficulty shaking it off and were bound all the more tightly to its effects. Some, like Harry Potter, were able to disentangle themselves from the spells clutches after some time. Barty Crouch was one of those people.

Peter Pettigrew had placed him under the spell which made it easier to escape from. Despite that, it took time, and during the process, poor Barty lost his sanity. When he arrived at Hogwarts he was babbling nonsense, the only clear thought in his head was the need to find Dumbledore. As luck would have it, he ran into Harry Potter and Viktor Krum, the first of which ran to find help.

By the time Dumbledore arrived, Crouch had run away. Not long after, his traitor of a son, in the guise of Mad-Eye Moody, found him.

'Hello, dad,' he greeted him, and the madness that lurked beneath was no longer so well concealed. 'Did you miss me?'

Barty ignored that question, for two reasons. First, he had no idea what the answer was. There was no doubt that he loved his son, even after all he had done, for that was the blessing and curse of being a parent. Even if you reared a monster, as he had, you always felt some shred of compassion towards them. The second was that right now there were definitely more important things on his mind, namely what his son was going to do to him. That was answered in the next moment, before he'd even asked.

'Don't worry about answering; I'm going to kill you, anyway…'

'I must warn Dumbledore! Albus must…be…warned…'

'Oh yes, there you go again. Even when I'm here in front of you, about to bring about your death, you pay me no attention. Well, you'll pay for that. You, and the rest of the world!'

Father gazed at son, confusion written across his features. The expression remained as the wand rose, and the spell was cast. It gave no clue as to the thoughts swirling within.

_I must warn Dumbledore…_

_I must warn.._

_I must.._

_I…_

…


	37. Merope Gaunt

**A/N: I thought I'd do something out of the ordinary and update sooner than usual. I made chocolate pudding in cooking yesterday, and it was really nice! Do you guys like chocolate pudding? This one will be Merope Gaunt, because I was reading my copy of HBP this morning and it struck me that I haven't written a piece for her yet.**

**Disclaimer: Picture the world before the Big Bang, or whatever you believe (meaning no disrespect to anyone there). There was…nothing. And that's what I own.**

Love is a fickle thing. As one Jamie MacDonald said in a book called Mercy, "it's never even. It's always seventy-thirty on the part of one of those in the relationship." In the case of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle, it was more ninety-ten, with Riddle's ten only made up by the influence of a love potion. Merope, on the other hand, was devoted to Tom, and ultimately, it was her undoing.

Perhaps by loving him as she did, and making him love her, she was compensating for the horrible life she had led with her father and brother. The day she escaped from them was the best of her life; everything took on new meaning when it was viewed through the eyes of one who was not bound as she had been.

Her first mistake was to cease administering the love potion, for without it, her besotted husband was not-so-besotted, and left her without a backwards glance, despite the fact that she was heavily pregnant. Her second mistake was the fact that she stopped using her magic, if it was a voluntary decision at all. More likely it was not of her doing, the loss of the love of her life destroyed her so badly that she lost the will to try, even for her son.

Merope was desperate for money, so she sold the most important, symbolic thing she owned – a locket that her father claimed had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin.

On her last legs, stumbling all the way, she made it to the door of an orphanage. After she had knocked on the door, a young woman came out.

'I'm Mrs. Cole. You wanna come in?'

As Merope opened her mouth to reply, she realized her baby was on its way.

'Yes, please,' she managed through the pain that was now assuaging her, 'I'm pregnant and-'

'Yer baby's coming,' Mrs. Cole finished for her. 'Come on in then,' she said, helping Merope up and guiding her through the orphanage and into a room that looked like it was rarely used. The girl gingerly maneuvered herself onto the bed and put her head back, closing her eyes and uttering a sigh of relief.

'I wouldn't get too comfortable,' Mrs. Cole warned, 'your child's ready to come into the world, and it ain't gonna be a pretty process. I'll go fetch Matron.'

Matron turned out to be a middle-aged mid-wife who had "done this hundreds o' times". So she claimed, and Merope could only hope she was telling the truth. With her grey hair pinned back in a tight bun, permanently turned down mouth and no nonsense manner, she didn't look like one who would hold your hand through such an ordeal.

Merope was right. The birth was a difficult one, and by the end the young mother had spent nearly all her remaining strength.

She could feel the life leeching out of her, and she was pretty sure Matron and Mrs. Cole could see it, too. She used her last words to name her son. 'Call him Tom Riddle…after his father….Marvolo should be…his middle…name…after my…father.'

Merope died with the name of her father on her lips, and the face of her love in her mind.


	38. Bathilda Bagshot

**A/N: this will be Bathilda Bagshot for I Luv Gred and Forge. Today I went to a Barbie exhibition with my young cousins, and it was amazing to see how the doll has evolved. What have you guys been up to? Thank you so much as always to everyone who has reviewed, I appreciate it more than I can say. Reviews are still appreciated, though. *hint, hint***

**Disclaimer: Why Santa, why? The only thing I ask of you – the rights to HP – and you never give them to me!**

Bathildas death was a peaceful one; she wasn't murdered to be used as an Inferi, or for Nagini to impersonate her. It was only once she had passed on that Voldemort found her body and bent it to his own evil will. But enough of that, we are here not to talk of this, but of the death itself.

Have you ever read one of those books where they say, "oh, such and such died peacefully in her sleep?" Sounds like a good way to go, doesn't it? Well, if not good, as least preferable to dying in agony. Unfortunately, that's not how Bathilda died. No, a death such as that would not be fitting for the woman who wrote "A History of Magic". Die in her sleep she did, but that last sleep was not a normal one. You know how they say that when you die your whole life flashes before your eyes? Since Bathilda was sleeping, she re-lived her whole life in a dream. There were flashes of her childhood – her young mother twirling around the house while her more serious father sat at the table reading the daily Prophet. She saw her days at Hogwarts, her best friends Annie and Patty, and felt a brief pang of regret that she hadn't kept in contact with them before the scene disappeared to be replaced with those long, but enjoyable days where she had been writing her book.

After that came the memory of those tender months when she had finished the book, and instead spent her time daydreaming about Cameron Clark. She'd watch him from afar as he went about his life, letting her mind wander to an alternate reality where they were married, and she was a loving mother of their children. That period of wishing ended quite abpruptly when she mustered up the courage to approach him, and he not-so-kindly burst her bubble.

Following that were more recent times though still quite a way back in the past – Gellert's time with her, and his friendship with Dumbledore. There was nothing much after that, besides the recollection of a rather ugly woman with glasses that had dimonties on the sides accompanied by a Quick Quotes Quill - Rait Skeeter, that was her name. As that image faded away, even in her "dream" Bathilda could feel her life fading with it. She took one last, rattling breath, before her body came to a standstill, and the magical world lost one of its best authors.


	39. Bertha Jorkins

Albania is a place not much heard of, it's not really on the map, and that didn't change for the wizarding world when Bertha Jorkins went missing there. Wouldn't you think though, that when one of their own went missing, the Ministry of Magic would take steps to investigate? Unfortunately for Bertha, she was quite a forgetful person and, truth be told, no one cared enough to mount a proper inquiry as to her whereabouts.

A dose of karma certainly hit them when it was revealed that Bertha was in actuality, not missing, but dead, and as the life leeched out of her, she had unwittingly provided the Ministry and indeed the world's enemy with crucial information.

Here, faithful reader, is an account of the events concerning the death of Miss Jorkins:

It was a cold dreary night, and gray clouds cast a shadow over the world, driving people back into their homes, or as it would happen, a pub. Thunder rumbled in the distance and large rain drops fell to the ground as a drenched Bertha Jorkins trotted as fast as her feet would carry her towards the welcome sight of an open pub.

As she pushed open the heavy wooden door, a million things about the scene bombarded her. First, the sound of a fire crackling in the hearth, lessening the chill in her bones just with its soothing noise. Second, the smells, of beer consumed without a second thought, of tobacco from the cigars that lonely men used as their escape. Finally, the sight of all these people looking so relaxed, she bet they didn't have as bad a memory as her, and they all had friends and family who worried about them.

She pushed those thoughts aside, and went to sit on one of the torn stools by the bar. Bertha sat by herself, content to watch the goings on around her. She was joined after a few minutes by a short, rat-like man with watery eyes. She thought he looked familiar, but for the life of her she couldn't point out why.

He asked her to come for a walk – the weather had improved by this time – and she agreed. It was the decision, even more so than entering the pub, which would lead to her doom. Peter Pettigrew was his name; she only remembered after he had disarmed her and took her to a room which contained nothing but a chair. Sitting in the chair was…well, Bertha wasn't really sure what he was. She knew who he was, though – Lord Voldemort. Her death was not easy. He saw immediately that her memory had been altered, and worked to lift the spell. Following that, every last drop of information was procured from her, until she had only a little sanity left. Enough to feel the pain as her tortured her, as if only to prove he could. Finally she could take no more, and she drifted into unconsciousness, never to awaken.


	40. Amelia Bones

**A/N: This one is going to be Amelia Bones. I finished a book I was reading today, called Hello Bunny Alice. It was okay, not one of the best or worst books I've ever read. How are you all? OMG! OMG! I just won tickets to see HBP on the thirteenth!!!! Two days earlier than it comes out!!!! *squeals* And I've never won anything in my life!!!!!!!!! :D Sorry, I guess you can see I'm a tad excited... :D**

**Disclaimer: You know when you shake a salt shaker over and over again, and not a single grain of salt is left? I own the contents of that salt shaker.**

One of the strongest witches in the Ministry, and a very fair woman. These were just two of many sentiments that were often uttered about Amelia Bones, before, and more frequently after her death, as the Ministry was left reeling with shock.

Lord Voldemort himself took credit for the murder, and it occured in such a way that the Muggle police were truly baffled, as they were by so many other occurences in recent times, all of them in some way related to the Death Eaters or their infamous leader. First was the collapse of a major London landmark, followed by a supposed hurricane which was actually caused by giants. But the worst event, for the Ministry at least, was the death of Amelia Bones.

She had been caught completely unawares, something that would have been hard to do for anyone but the Dark Lord, in particular to this victim. She was found in a locked room that had no connection to her whatsoever. This was because when he found her, Amelia was actually sitting in her house reading, as relaxed as she was ever likely to get, especially in these dangerous times.

She heard a sharp crack and, even before the high cold voice greeted her, she knew that the most evil wizard ever to grace the earth had penetrated her Anti-Apparition spells and was here to take her life.

"Hello Amelia. Enjoying your book? I hope so, for it will be the last one you ever read."

"Just kill me, Voldemort. I know that's what you're going to do. Cut the preliminaries and get it over with," she sounded resigned, yet her voice did not waver.

"There now, that wasn't very nice now was it? Just for that bit of rudeness, I think I'm going to do the exact opposite of what you asked." The woman gasped as her tormentor tightly grasped her upper arm and began to twist on the spot.

He's Apparating me away, she thought, sickened with fear, but to where?

Simply, it turned out, to a plain looking room that seemed as though it had never seen pain or death. Oddly enough, this only increased Amelia's fear. "This will do nicely as your last room, don't you think?"

Amelia just glared at him, and if looks could kill, he'd be dead a hundred times over, no matter how many Horcruxes he had.

Suddenly, his mood seemed to change and he no longer felt like playing with her, stringing her along, as he was going to only moments before. "It's your lucky day, Amelia. Your death will come quickly. Sad isn't it - such an unremarkable death, for one who is praised as such a remarkable witch. I suppose you will have been killed by me, which should count for something."

She closed her eyes and tried to block out his words, willing him to hurry up. Death, she was not afraid of, but this suspense, it was killing her. The irony of that thoguht struck her a single second before the flash of green light, and she fleetingly hoped that Susan, at least, would remember her for herself, and not the job she kept at the Ministry.


	41. Crabbe

**A/N: This one will be Crabbe,as suggested by george the hedgehog. I'm so sorry I haven't updated in ages. Blame the mounds of homework that we've been piled with. Or my inability to work fast enough. Any or either. Point is, hopefully updates will be quicker from now on. I'm going to see HBP for the fourth time tomorrow with two of my friends. What are you guys doing on the weekend? As always, ginormous thanks for the reviews!**

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, but sometimes pink, I don't own HP, so don't kick up a stink. Eh, not my best, but it gets the message across. **

"Hold it, Potter," Draco warned, as Crabbe and Goyle looked on with their wands outstretched.

The Chosen One halted, and spun around, only to come face to face with three of them. This was brilliant, Crabbe thought, a truimphant sneer on his face. The Dark Lord would reward them all for this, and they would be honoured beyond any of their dreams.

"That's my wand you're holding, Potter," that was Malfoy again, pointing a wand of his own as he spoke.

"Not any more. Winners keepers Malfoy. Who's lent you theirs?" Harry was panting and Crabbe noticed that he had gripped the wand tighter in his hand.

"My mother," came the reply.

Potter started laughing, but it wasn't real laughter, more the sound one gives when they were searching for a way to stall, or fill a silence. "So how come you three aren't with Voldemort?"

Crabbe answered this time, his voice soft. He hated his voice. It didn't match his personality at all, and it made him feel weak. Especially since every time Crabbe spoke, his father sighed or rolled his eyes, and Crabbe knew he had to refrain from making some remark. That was why he barely ever spoke, it was easier not to, and have people tink he was the big, silent dunce.

"We're gonna be rewarded. We 'ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to 'im."

"Good plan," Potter said, and the mocking tone of his voice angered Crabbe. "So how did you get in here?" He asked, stalling again.

Malfoy answered again, and it sounded as though he was dredging up the words from somewhere deep inside, like the memories associted with them were ones he never wanted to recall again. "I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year. I know how to get in."

"We was hiding in the corridor outside," Goyle grunted. "We can do Diss-lussion charms now!" He sounded incredibly proud of that small acheivement. "And then, you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum. What's a die-dum?"

"Harry?" Weasley seemed to have caught onto the fact that something was not quite right. "Are you talking to someone?" He could nto be allowed to get near enough to save Potter. With that in mind, Crabbe swiftly waved his wand and shouted, causing the great pile of junk to topple over near Weasley. "Descendo!"

"Ron!" Potter yelled, and then, "Finite!", as from somewher far away, the Mudblood shrieked.

Crabbe raised his wand to cast the spell again, but Malfoy grabbed his arm. "No! If you wreck the room, you might bury this diedem thing."

"What's that matter?" Crabbe asked as he tugged himself free. "It's Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about some diedum?"

Malfoy looked at him disgustedly as he impatiently replied, "Potter came in here to get it, so that must mean - "

"Must mean?" Crabbe turned on Draco ferociously. "Who cares what you think? I don't take your orders no more, Draco. You and your dad are finished!"

"Harry? What's going on?" Weasley shouted again, obviously unhurt.

"Harry? What's going - ?" Crabbe mimicked, his taunt cut short as Harry lunged for the tiara and he shouted, "No!" His curse missed its target, unfortunately and hit the stone bust and as a result, the diedum, whatever it was, flew into the air, out of reach.

"Stop!" Malfoy shouted, "The Dark Lord wants him alive - "

"So, I'm not killing him, am I? But if I can, I will. The Dark Lord wants him dead anyway, what's the diff - ?"

A Stunning spell missed him by inches, thanks to Malfoy. "It's that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!"

Furious, Harry Shot a Stunner at crabbe, which he doged, knocking Malfoys wand out of his hand in the process. "Don't kill him! Don't kill him!" Malfoy screamed, and as they hesitated, Harry disarmed them.

Crabbe dodged Weasley's Body Bind, and sent a Killer curse straight back, following his target as he ran away. He growled furiously, and in his fury he considered and option he never had before: Fiendfyre. It was dangerous, yes but Crabbe was confident he could handle it, and it would eliminate Potter, weasley and Granger all in one go. The falmes shot our of his wand and at first it was a sight to behold, as they writhed and danced in the air. A few seconds later though, it was apparent that they were no longer under his control.

"Run!" Weasley ordered, and Crabbe followed the demand unquestioningly. The sprinted as fast as they could, Crabbe still impervious to fear. "Like it hot, scum?"

Potter tried unsuccessfully to reign in the flames, as someone shouted, "RUN!"

Malfoy grabbed Goyle, and Harry Ron and Hermione followed, Crabbe was in front of them all, true fear etched into his face now.

He didn't know where he was going, couldn't see through the piles of ash and soot, and the firey monsters that shone brighter than anything he had ever seen. He ran blindly, his breath coming in heaves as the room became hotter and hotter. His vision become blurry.

_I must escape!_

There was no air left in his lungs, he could see nothing but darkness. There was something he had to do, but he coudn't remember what it was...

In the end, Crabbe was impaled by his own sword.


	42. Emmeline Vance

**A/N: No, I haven't fallen off the face of the Earth, I just haven't updated in a while. Once again, my apologies. How are you all? I have a maths test on Wednesday, really not looking forward to it. Hope you like this…thank you for all the reviews!**

**Disclaimer: I've been writing this story for how long? I didn't own HP at the start, and nothings changed there.**

"Bye, bye, Emmeline Vance," Bellatrix cackled, "see you in Hell!"

"Oh, I'm not dead yet Bella, and I don't intend to be for a really long time," Emmeline replied, her voice laced with tension.

"Don't you want to know how I found you?"

"There's no need to ask. Severus betrayed us, didn't he?"

"Very good, Miss Vance. I shouldn't have told you that, but you're going to be dead soon anyway. I suppose you're not as dim as you look."

"More to the point, I'm insulted. Am I not good to be killed by Voldemort himself?"

"You? You don't even deserve to be killed by me, but I was bored. Torture is a great pastime, you know," as she spoke, her mouth curved upwards in the makings of a sinister smile.

"Only for someone like you, you crazy bit-!"

"Enough from you for now, it's time to have a little…fun."

In that deceptively sweet voice, clad only in black with wild-looking hair of the same hue, Bellatrix really did look as Emmeline had accused.

A thrill of fear shot up her spine and she cast her blue eyes around, searching instinctively for an exit she knew she would not find. Bellatrix was standing right beside her front door, and the windows had been Charmed shut.

Emmeline noticed that her hands were shaking, but not from fear, more due to a keen sense of anticipation. Truth be told, despite her initial reaction, she wasn't that. It's a funny thing about humans, she reflected, we crave that which thrills us, brings us that feeling of excitement, of not knowing what was going to happen. Even if the cause of that adrenaline was something that brought us face to face with death. Then again, perhaps it was that very risk which motivated us.

Escaping was going to prove very difficult indeed, but not, she believed impossible. Unlikely maybe, but there was still a chance and as long as that chance was there, Emmeline would not give up. She crept forward slowly, trying to keep her opponent talking. "Fun, Bella? There's a beach a few miles away, I'm sure you'd love the chance to build some sand castles, you know, revisit your youth?"

Almost faster than she could see, Bellatrix brought her wand down in a viscious arc, producing a burst of red light, which Emmeline dodged, inwardly thankful that she had tied her dark hair in a ponytail, for it would have only obscured her vision, and she certainly could not afford that.

She parried quickly with a Stunner which missed and shattered her favourite vase. She spared a quick thought for what the neighbours would think of that, expecially since she lived so close to the Muggle Prime Ministers office, before returning her focus to the battle at hand.

Everything seemed to be moving lightning fast and agonizingly slow at the same time. The next few minutes became a blur of attacking and defending, taunts and witty rejoinders, until one fateful moment, when she had not been quick enough. She had allowed her attention to waver for a millisecond, and a millisecond was all it took.

Bellatrix uttered a satisfied "Ha!" but her victim heard it as though from far away, as everything faded except for that red light which was coming closer, and closer...

It struck with surprisingly little force, and Emmeline Vance knew no more.


	43. Fawkes

There are countless mythical creatures, yet some would say the greates of all is the phoenix. With a red and gold plumage, the ability to carry immensely heavy loads and a form that shall ever remain untouched by Death itself, it has certainly earned the title.

Fawkes the phoenix is probably the most well known of all his kind, being the cherished companion and pet of Albus Dumbledore. And we all know who he is! Since Phoenix's cannot die, let us instead explore some of Fawkes Burning Days, two in particular: when Harry Potter was in his second year and mistakenly thought that Professor Dumbledore would assume Harry had murdered his pet, and an instance two years onwards, where Fawkes took a deadly curse to save his master.

The first of these happenings was not so out of the ordinary. Fawkes had been feeling weak for days, and he knew Dumbledore could see it too. He kept trying to cheer him up with little treats, to no avail. He became lethargic and aged incredibly within a number of days. His feathers grew to be limp, like the withered petals on a flower and his eyesight became less and less clear. His condition decreased until that day in his masters office. His eyes closed, but he was not dead. As soon as they shut, a familiar warmth surrounded him, and the image of dancing flames burned behind his eyelids. He could feel his form shrinking as he regressed, becoming a baby bird once more.

The next of his - regenerations, shall we call them? - was not so natural. His master was dueling with the Evil One, the one that inspired fear in the bravest of wizards, all except his master. There was a jet of green light, and Fawkes could see his master would not be able to avoid it. Without thinking about it, as if on instinct, Fawkes dived in front of his master, catching the jet of light in his beak. The effect was immdeiate, all the life left him. Yet just like every other time, before he died, flames erupted around him, their welcome caress like a warm blanket.

Fawkes would live on, and so would his master. The bird did not want to entertain the thought of life without him.


	44. Gideon Prewett

**A/N: OMG 381 reviews! That's an absolutely enormous number!! Well, it is to me, anyway. This one is for Patty the Purple Platypus, who suggested Gideon and Fabian Prewett. I'll write them one after the other, in seperate chapters...I did the 40 hour famine this weekend, and it ended around two hours ago, and I was so happy! I honestly don't know how people over ther stand it, though I suppose if you're used to the hunger it wouldn't bother you so much...those poor people. *sad face* I'm also really excited because Catching Fire, sequel to the Hunger Games, comes out in two days!! What have you guys been up to? Thank you so much for all your reviews!**

**Disclaimer: After that really long Author's note, I think I'll save you having to read a long version of: I don't own HP!**

"Molly, we just want you to know, we love you."

Their sister was taken aback by the unexpected show of affection. "Oh...thank you. I love you both too." Gideon and Fabian grinned at her, before waving and leaving the Burrow. Once they were out of earshort of anyone, Fabian spoke, "I knew it, you feel it too!"

"Feel what?" His brother asked irritably. He didn't like talk of feelings. He thought that if he allowed himself to care too much, it also allowed him to hurt to an equal, and maybe even greater degree. And yet, he was the one who had just told his sister he loved her.

"The sense that something's going to happen. Voldemort's getting stronger and stronger, and no one's safe. We're bound to be on his hit list, and if we are, our days are numbered."

"Aren't you just a bunch of laughs? Just forget about your stupid feeling."

Fabian said no more about it as they journeyed home. Indeed, it was not mentioned again, until one fateful evening a few days later...

A few days later

"I told you so! I told you something bad would happen!" Fabian gloated.

"Yes you did, and if our lives weren't at stake, I'd stop and congratulate you on your brilliance. As it is...Stupefy!" He shouted the last word, aiming it at one of the many Death Eaters surrounding them. "Damn, I missed Dolohov!"

"Avada Kedavra!" There was a simultaneous shout from their foes, and the brothers barely escaped with their lives.

"That was close!"

"Close? Fabian, close is an understatement! We need to end this, now! It's kill or be killed!" With that, he shot a Killing Curse at one of the Death Eaters and allowed himself a breif moment of satisfaction as he saw the body fall motionless to the ground.

"Gideon, watch out, behind you!" He heard his brother shout to him, and turned just in time to see that Dolohov had snuck up behind him, sending forth a deadly curse, much too quickly for Gideon to avoid. As it hit its mark and the life left him, his eyes fell on his brother. He knew that he would not survive, but hoped that he would, at least, meet him on the other side.


	45. Fabian Prewett

**A/N: What have you guys been up to? For some reason, FF won't let me upload documents, so I'll change one that's already up here. Has anyone else had the same problem? If updates are even slower after this, I apologise, but this time I have an excuse! I'm going on Outward Bound, a sort of camp thing, on Tuesday for around two weeks. Thank you so much for all your reviews! Think we could make it to 400 before the next chapter?**

**Disclaimer: Reviews are the only profit I make from these stories.**

"Molly, we just want you to know, we love you." Fabian was as surprised as his sister to hear those words coming from Gideon's mouth. He was by no means the sentimental one, and Fabian knew he had to say something to his brother.

"Thank you....I love you both, too." Fabian couldn't blame Molly for not really knowing what to say, he was nearly speechless himself.

"I knew it, you feel it too!" That probably wasn't the best way to approach such a matter with Gideon, but he had no idea how else he could have phrased what he was feeling, and he was always upfront about things, to the point where the two of them were almost polar opposites. So different, and yet through all that, an unspeakable bond existed that made them the same.

"Feel what?" Predictably, Gideon was giving him an abrupt answer that showed his annoyance none-too-subtly.

"The sense that something's going to happen. Voldemort's getting stronger and stronger, and noone's safe. We're bound to be on his hit list, and if we are, our days are numbered." _I sound like I've been in contact with a Dementor, _he thought dryly, and a second later, Gideon voiced his thought.

"Aren't you just a bunch of laughs? Just forget about your stupid feeling."

Fabian said no more about it as they journeyed home, but that is not to say it did not pray on his mind more and more as time passed, as did things he'd never actually considered before, like how Molly would cope if something happened to them. Or even - dare he think it? - something happened to one of them and the other was left behind?

Actual death was not something that plagued his nightmares, not after all this time. He kind of got accustomed to it after a while, though he knew there were those who never could. It was more what came after, and an anger at something that hadn't even happened yet - how was it fair? One person died and for them it was all over, but for the mourners the pain of their absence never left. Dulled over time, maybe, but never disappeared. Who got to decided who lived and who died? Was it the toss of a coin? A random impulse?

A few days later

"I told you so! I told you something bad would happen!" Fabian gloated. He knew it was immature, and highly inappropriate, but he couldn't help himself.

"Yes you did, and if our lives weren't at stake, I'd stop and congratulate you on your brilliance. As it is...Stupefy!" He shouted the last word, aiming it at one of the many Death Eaters surrounding them. "Damn, I missed Dolohov!"

Fabian opened his mouth to respond, but was saved the bother of thinking up a witty retort by their foes, who decided to throw multiple killing curses at them. Together they dodged and weaved, occasionally only escaping, literally, by a hairs breadth. When there was a pause in the assault, Fabian spoke.

"That was close!"

"Close? Fabian, close is an understatement! We need to end this, now! It's kill or be killed!" Grinning as he saw one of his brother's attackers fall, Fabian turned his head just in time.

"Gideon watch out - behind you!" He shouted desperately, filled with a fear he had never known the likes of before. Gideon was quick, but not quick enough to avoid the curse that was fated to end his life.

Fabian shook his head and tried to concentrate, to keep fighting, but it was impossible. Everytime he tried the image of Gideon, eyes closing for the last time, would flash before his eyes. He was shooting blindly now, tears blurring his vision. When he felt the curse hit, he was almost relieved. _Now I'll find out the answers to all those questions. Or perhaps I'll learn - there are no answers._


	46. Prof Binns

**A/N: I have a list of seven more possible chapters for this story, and then I think I'll wrap it up, unless anyone has any requests? Anyway, after consulting the character list, which I am fast becoming incredibly grateful for, I have decided this chapter to focus on Prof. Binns. We don't see him much in the novels, so there wasn't much to go on. Thank you very much for all your reviews, they are incredibly helpful and appreciated! Hope you enjoy this! - Kitty**

**Disclaimer: Gryffindor colours are red, and yellow too/ Harry Potter isn't mine, so please do not sue.**

Professor Cuthbert Binns was only ever interested in facts. Nothing that couldn't be proven wasn't worth his time of day. Naturally, he and Luna Lovegood did not get on very well. She lived in a fanciful land where Nargles and Wrackspurts, and all other kinds of imagined creatures existed whereas he...well, he believed in that which was certain. "Facts are truth. They are irrefutible, like a rock amidst a swirling, dangerous sea. Life is the sea, and facts are the rock, the only place that is safe." That was what his father believed, anyway.

What with that philosophy, it seemed only fitting that Cuthbert enter a profession that supported it. And so, he became a teacher, acquiring a job that was fulfilling enough, steady, but most of all, safe. What could he teach but facts, in History of Magic? He had always been fascinated by the past, long before his fathers words became something to listen to, rather than something to which you nod your head and pretend to hear. He loved the idea that with a few sentences, a few words, even, you could become apart of centuries long gone, civilisations made not of living, breathing flesh, but of dust. That lived on not through physicality, but the words of those who saw fit to write them down.

In an abandoned house, he would not see just an abandoned house. He would see the door that had once been swung. He would see the people that had once inhabited the place, filled it with energy and vivacity. He knew that these things were not gone, not really; for they lived on when he remembered. In his droning, wheezy way, he tried to convey this to his classes, hoping (futilely so) that when they left, they would take something with them.

He taught well into his old age, to the point where one day he went to sleep in the staffroom and never woke up. Well, not as a human, anyway. He woke up as a ghost, and this didn't faze him one little bit. Actually, he thought it might be helpful to his students. That in looking at him, they might see someone who taught about the past, but was not part of it. Truth be told, Professor Binns remembered nothing about his death. It was wholly unremarkable. His story, on the other hand, is one I hope you don't forget.

He is consumed by the past, propelled to the future, and ever suspended in that which is _now._


	47. Marvolo Gaunt

**A/N: Here we have Marvolo Gaunt, father of both Morfin and Merope. Constructive critisism is always appreciated. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does in no way shape or form belong to me, nor was it written by me for sadly, I am not JK Rowling.**

Some people say that evil is born, not made. Others say that to be "evil" is a choice, not a destiny. For what is evil, really? Only that to which we assign the label. Because that's what we aways do: label, steroetype, judge.

Marvolo Gaunt didn't think of himself as evil. He honestly believed in what he preached - the purity of wizard blood. He was immensley proud of the fact that he was a Pure Blood, and a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin at that.

When he returned to his house, if you could call it that, from Azkaban, he was expecting Merope, useless lump that she was, to have the house as dust free as possible, with a meal waiting on the table. As you and I both know, what you're expecting isn't always what you get, and Marvolo was in for a surprise. Merope had left him a note that read:

_Father,_

_You are in Azkaban, along with your beloved son. By the time you read this, I too will be long gone from this house. There is nothing keeping me here anymore, and to be honest, anywhere is better than here._

_I shall leave with my darling Tom, going far away from here. I suspect this is the last time you will hear from me.  
Farewell,_

_Merope_

"That traitorous bitch," he swore. Incensed, he drew his arm across the table, sweeping aside everything that had been on it. The crash of plates and glasses shattering into a million pieces brought him no small satisfaction. Instead of decreasing, his anger levels only continued to rise.

Marvolo's heart began to pound increasingly harder and faster, and unfamiliar pains shot up and down his right arm. Unbeknownst to him, he was having a heart attack - something incomprehensible to any wizard. As his heart finally came to a standstill, he had the fleeting thought that maybe his beliefs weren't all that correct after all.


	48. Pandora Lovegood

**A/N: This one shall be Luna's mother, whom I have decided to call Pandora, because I'm not sure of her actual name. If anyone knows, I would appreciate it if they let me know. I hope you all had a lovely weekend. I spent mine reading the Tenth Circle by Jodi Picoult, and I couldn't put the book down...**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.**

There's a fine line between sanity and insanity. It's invisible and unspoken, acknowledged only in that time when the thoughts you hide in the deep recesses of your mind have a way of sneaking into your consciousness. Seeds of doubt are planted where previously there existed nothing but devout faith in that one you loved. And then morning came and the seed, instead of dissipating into nothing, blossomed into a flower that became the only thing you could think about until the truth was finally revealed.

Everyone thought Pandora Lovegood's death was an accident. In actual fact, it was a suicide. Everyone was also under the impression that Pandora and her family, though odd, were good-natured, happy people. For the most part, they were correct. Xenophilius, Luna and Pandora were good natured, and father and daughter were happy. Pandora, on the other hand, had a side of her that nobody saw.

She was perceived as cheerful and bubbly, the best mother, friend and wife anyone could ask for. Her only (known) vice was her experiments. She conducted them alone, for the most part, and in doing so she gave full reign to her curiosity and creativity. She hoped to stumble across something the likes of which the world had never seen. And in the end, she did. A magical explosive which would kill anyone in the room instantly, leaving no trace.

Some of you may be asking, why on earth, or any other planet, would she have a use for something like that? The answer, I'm afriad, lies in Pandora's biggest secret. She was depressed. True, to the outside world, she painted on a face that was serene and constant - but that's all it was; a painting, a mask used to cleverly conceal the mess she truly was.

Xenophilius had gone outside to search for Wrackspurts with Luna on this particular day and so she was left alone with a substance that could potentially end her life. The question was; would she go through with it? She took a deep, steadying breath and rolled up her sleeves, revealing as she did so a ladder of scars that made their way up her arms.

Each scar had been made by her own hand, and she knew as she gazed at them that she was not at all sane. No sane person would have done this to themselves, would they? No sane person would be able to relish the feeling of scissors being drawn across the skin, to feel the triumph as blood seeped from the wound. Then reality would return, and she would cover the blood with a paper towel, waiting for it to stop, and refusing to use magic to heal herself.

She thought of Luna as she chanted the incantation that would set off the potion - how one kind word, smile or hug from her would make Pandora feel as though she were being pulled back from a cliff. And then finally she thought that sometimes, it just wasn't enough.

She was not aware that Luna was watching very close by, and was haunted ever more by the image of her mother falling lifeless to the ground.


	49. Ariana Dumbledore

**A/N: I really should be doing homework, but I will, as soon as I post this...As you can see from the title, it provdies what I hope is a well written glimpse into the death of Ariana Dumbledore, whom we don't see/hear about much in the books. I hope you all have a nice weekend! Has anybody read any good books lately? I need something to read, since I've worked my way through quite a few recently...As always, thank you heaps to everyone who has reviewed, it means the world to me!!**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter books, Harry Potter DVD's, Harry Potter poster...wait, where's the HP rights??? Oh right - they were never mine.**

Death, as a general rule, is viewed as something that people dread. It signifies the end, ultimate and unchanging. After that there's no more life, no more trials and tribulations, everything grinds to a cruel, groundbreaking halt.

The Dumbledore siblings all shared the same blue eyes, but where Albus' twinkled and Aberforths' gradually faded to a milky grey, Ariana's eyes were unchangeable, seemingly containing all her childish innocence in those two orbs. Combined with her bouncy blonde hair and pale complexion, they gave her a delicate pixie-like appearance.

It was that which originally urged the three young boys to approach her the day that her life, and those of her family were destroyed forever. She did not hear or see them there and so, lulled into a false sense of security, she unleashed her magic. There were leaves scattered along the ground, and she lifted them up and twirled, until she could see nothing but a blur of reds and yellows and oranges. Here, nothing could harm her. She was safe in a cocoon of her own creation, where her parents' arguments, Albus' irritating serenity and Aberfortths stony silences could not affect her.

Seconds later, her illusion was shattered into a million tiny fragments. A rock hit her hard in the side of the head and jarred her concentration, causing the leaves to flutter gently to the ground. Confused, she turned to find three of the neighbouring boys looking at her with identical sneers on their faces.

"What did you think you were doing, Tinkerbell?" The middle one teased. He seemed to be the leader, taller and thinner than the other two.

"My name's Ariana, not Tinkerbell."

"Whatever. You're still a freak, and freaks don't deserve to live near us."

"Freaks don't deserve to live at all," the one on the left added, and even at ten years of age, his dark eyes spoke of something sinister.

The others seemed to find this comment the height of wit, and chortled in appreciation.

"I'm not a freak," she said softly, hurt colouring her voice.

They didn't let her continue, pelting her with more rocks, until she was curled up in the foetal position, her body racked with sobs. They kicked her a couple times for good measure and ran off, giving each other hi-fives along the way.

From that point on, Ariana was only ever a shell of her former self. Something in her had snapped, and she was no longer sane. She was prone to magical outbursts at the slightest prompt. It escalated to the point where her power was such that her mother was blown against the wall. Ariana waited for her to get up and yell at her, but she never did. In fact, she never moved again.

Then came Gellert, with all his dreams and aspirations, drawing Albus down the darker path. All the while she could see what was happening; see the façade he painted for Albus, as the inescapable tug of power took hold, and there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say. She could only watch.

It all culminated, as she had known it would, in a duel. The three of them, Albus, Grindlewald and Aberforth shouted at each other.

"You can't leave her, Albus! Forget all your stupid dreams that will lead to no good! Are you forgetting that as well as being the Oh-So-Great-Scholar, you were once also a son, a brother?" That was Aberforth, righteously defending her as always.

"Stop meddling in your brothers life – he and I shall one day be the Masters of Death, and you are simply an annoyance, an obstacle barring the way to success!" At his words Aberforths blood boiled. Blinded by rage he whipped out his wand, not sure exactly what he was going to do with it, only knowing that he wanted to cause the monster in front of him grievous bodily harm.

The other two raised their own wands, and three jets of deadly light were released. All of them missed, however, ricocheting of objects, and eventually hitting the only innocent one in the room.

Death, to Ariana Dumbledore was not something to dread. Trapped as she was in a frail body and a traumatised mind, she had more time to think than most people. So, as the final curse struck, and death descended, she felt not fear, but a sweet release. _It was over_.


	50. Evan Rosier

**A/N: Does everyone else absolutely LOVE long weekends? I think they're the best, and right now, I have a five day one. Yes, five days - what a rarity! I re-started Digital Fortress by Dan Brown this morning, since I never actually finished it... Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! If you're reading and not reviewing, could you please review, even if you hate it, just so I know why, and how I can improve? Thank you. Oh and the disclaimer below was made for htbookreader1, who said they missed them... :)**

**Disclaimer: Let's play hangman! Okay, five words. The first two are the name of everyone's favourite boy wizard with a scar on his forehead. Third word starts with I, ends with S and has nothing in the middle. Fourth word is note without the 'e' and the final word means 'to belong to me.' I think we all know what I'm trying to say here...**

"Bloody Hell - he blew off half my nose!" Moody shouted and indeed, when he chanced a glance, Evan saw blood pouring from said piece of anatomy, apparently caused by his curse.

If Moody had wanted him dead before, it would be nothing to his determination now. Where some people would have been slowed by a wound, Mad-Eye was, if possible, even more motivated by it. In fact, the curse had missed, and backfired in the process, the Death Eater's intention having been to hit his most formidable opponent in the chest, thus kiiling him and driving the others away. There was no chance of that now, though.

He considered Apparating, but he knew that wherever he went, they would follow, and he would lose precious time regaining his bearings once the unpleassant sucked-through-a-pipe feeling wore off. The other options availiable to Rosier could scarcely be called that at all. He could fight his way out of here, which seemed a difficult proposition at that point, and be found and punished by his master. No, he could not do that. The thought of further torture sent his mind spinning in different directions, and he fought to remember where he was.

"Protego!" He said loudly, and then cast a Disillusionment charm over himself. It would buy him some, if not enough time.

"Where'd he go?" The clearing echoed with that and similar rhetorical enquiries as the Aurors temporarily lost sight of their quarry.

"He must have cast a Disillusionment Charm. It's an evasion technique. We're wearing him down, not long now." It was Moody who figured it out, unsurprisingly.

During the time he had gained, he continued through his list of possible futures. He could allow the Aurors to catch him and be sent to Azkaban, no doubt to be found by the Dark Lord anyway, or he could force the Aurors into a position where they had to kill him. Or he could kill himself. None of these options sounded very promising, but all were better than the first. Rosier had too much pride to kill himself, so the only option left was to trick someone else into doing it for him.

He walked into their line of sight, forgetting the Disillusionment Charm. It took them a few moments to spot him.

"He's baiting us, look at him!"

"Stupefy!"

He deftly avoided all the curses, and sent some of his own flying back, one of which landed on target. One opponent down, and yes, they were getting angrier, just as he'd intended. Moody was the worst - he didn't act sentimental, but his sorrow at seeing another of his own fall was expressed in an increasing desire to nail the perpetrator, who was currently standing in front of him, doing everything except waving a red flag.

"Avada Kedavra."

_At least, _unfortunate Evan Rosier reflected in his last moments, _it was my choice._


	51. Chelsea Abbott

**A/N: How are we all? I've been good - some chicks hatched at school, and they were SO cute! Just a question before I go: does anyone have a really weird phobia? I know I'm really afraid of heights, and spiders, and I'm curious about other people… ;D Hope you like this one – thank you all for your reviews!! I'm trying to get to 500 before the end of the story, just to end on a nice, rounded number...**

**Disclaimer: I was doing a cross word the other day, and the clue was "Boy wizard – Kitty Bridgeta lays no claim to the rights." Can you guess the answer?**

(Once upon a time…)

Chelsea Abbott had been young, fresh out of school when she had her daughter Hannah. Quickly, faster than she had imagined possible, her life became centered around her daughter. The father was not important. He had left her, so she left no room for him in her life.

(There was a princess, without her prince…)

As she gazed into the eyes of her new born daughter, delighted to see that their periwinkle blue matched her own, she decided.

"I'll call her Hannah."

Hearing her name, the baby's face split into a tiny grin, and dimples formed on her rosy cheeks. "Hannah Rose – for your cheeks." She was smitten.

(Raising a daughter, all on her own…)

Watching a child grow, she came to realize, is much like swinging on a swing. Sometimes, as they take their first steps, as their lips form your name; you are soaring, high above the clouds. And then you hit the ground, with a startling thud – she boards the train, waves good bye and you know. There are some adventures too grand to be shared with everyone.

(There is no white horse come to take her away. She must do that herself)

At first, she is plunged into a pit of despair – can you still really be you when the thing that defines you is gone? Slowly, she recovers. She sleeps through the night, images of death and terror and gaps she cannot close slowly fade from her dreams. When she receives Hannah's letters from Hogwarts, she is happy for her, instead of sad she cannot join her.

(When Death comes knocking, she fights…and dies)

She had done nothing wrong. In all her life, Chelsea Abbott had done not a thing even close to wrong. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was a worrier, something she had passed on to Hannah – just look at her before her OWLs. She was not ready for Heaven. Or maybe, Heaven wasn't ready for her.

"Lookie here," a cruel voice whispers from the shadows as she prepares to Apparate home. Her breathing hitches in fear, but she tries to be rational. Maybe, they're not who she thinks they are.

The man rolls up his sleeves, and she is shown the Mark etched into his arm. Maybe not.

"Chelsea Abbott, do you feel dead?" The tone is conversational, almost normal, yet the question is so…_not._

She is suddenly reminded of a Muggle film she saw a few years back. _Pirates of the Carribean_, that's what it was called. The villain there would ask just the same question. She almost smiles, and he notices.

"Was that a smile? I think it was. Your lips curled up and everything. I wouldn't be smiling if I were you. After the next few minutes, you're never going to smile again. After the next few minutes, all you're ever going to be is dead."

In the seconds he is distracted, she waves her wand, sending him flying backwards. She turns and flees as fast as her feet will carry her – Apparition is beyond her now, fear holds her too tightly.

Before she has taken ten steps he has caught up. He wrenches her arm behind her back and she cries out in pain.

He snarls, she whispers to the darkening sky.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Hannah."

(Once upon a time…there were no happy endings)


	52. Broderick Bode

**Author's Note: I've always wondered what Broderick Bode was thinking as he was strangled by that Devil's Snare in OotP, so that's where this came from. I read a book called Cut the other day...it was really depressing. Another question, just because I love hearing all your answers - favourite book? Hope you like this, and thank you for all your reviews! Keep 'em coming. ;D**  
**Disclaimer: I had a fortune cookie the other day, and it advised me to "think of a better way to say: Harry Potter is not yours." I'm working on it.**

Harry Ron and Hermione had been trapped by Devil's Snare as they tried to stop "Snape" from getting the Philosopher's Stone. Their brief encounter with the plant didn't even come close to what Broderick Bode experienced when he was strangled by it, in a hospital, of all places.

There are many what if's in this equation. For example - what if Bode had never been placed under the Imperius Curse by Lucius Malfoy? Would he still be a live today? Maybe so, but surely another would have died to take his place - the Dark Lord must try every trick in and out of the book before he sends anyone to directly acquire the prophecy. The "what if's," however, are not our focus. Our focus is the late Bode, his thoughts before, and the events leading up to his tragic, needless death.

Strangulation is not the most pleasant way to die. One would argue that there is no most pleasant way to die – dying is dying, no matter the circumstances under which it occurs. Regardless of your opinion, there's not much chance that strangulation would be something you would foresee in your near future; Broderick Bode certainly did not ever dream of a life such as he had.

When you're alive, you're constantly "dying" to finish school, or "dying" for a drink because you're just so thirsty, but think on it from another point of view. If you're really dying, the only thing you think about is life. The only thing you want is to be safe in the knowledge that you will take another breath. Critical situations have a way of snapping everything into perspective that way.

Upon being attacked by his Christmas gift (ironic, I know) Bode was in an altered state of mind, in other words, he was a bit mad. Mad or not, he was desperate to survive, even if survival meant one more day trapped in his own frail body. He clawed at the tentacles that had twined themselves tightly around his neck, scrambled to find a place from which to pull harder, to no avail.

Gasping for breath and quickly losing hope of rescue (surely a Healer would hear something and come to his aid?) Mr Bode hoped for a quick end, and if it was not too much to ask, an eternal existence that was less lonely than his life had been.

**A/N: I apologise for throwing that piece of garbage your way, but I had no muse and wanted to post a chapter in case I didn't get too add another one for a while.**


	53. Fulbert the Fearful

**Authors Note: Wow, I seem to be getting better at this updating thing! Most likely because of the holidays. I'd better keep going though, because once school starts again it'll get way harder! I brought 3 books today: Salem falls by Jodi Picoult, 1984 by George Orwell and Walk in My Shoes, by Author Whose Name I have Forgotten. Anybody read those? If so, what did you think? Fulbert the Fearful, for those of you who aren't sure, is a wizard who was so cowardly he never ventured out of his house, and he died when a defensive charm backfired and his roof caved in.**

**Disclaimer: Time after time, as the songs says, I will be waiting. Contrary to the song, I'll be waiting for the rights to Harry Potter to become mine. It's going to be one heck of a long wait…**

No one knew much about Fulbert the Fearful. Not people in the wizarding world, and not readers of the Harry Potter books, where he was never mentioned. That's not to say that people didn't care, didn't want to find out more. This piece is for those people – those who are genuinely curious and hungry for a good story.

Fear is a funny emotion, regarded by some as the most powerful of all, second only to love. It can save lives, and destroy them. When you're afraid, everything falls away. There is nothing but the frantic beating of your own heart. You have two primitve options: fight or flight. Pretty self explanatory, right? You can flee like a bat out of Hell and hope that you're fast enough to escape whatever caused the problem or you can stay and tough it out, come what may.

Fulbert the Fearful was, as the sleuths among you may have gathered, prone to flight. So much so that in the end he ran until he could run no more - there was no where left to retreat to but home. And home he stayed. The place that was both his sanctuary, and his death.

Now the million dollar question here is: what was he afraid of? Plain and simple: the world. When you think sbout it, the world is a pretty scary place. Full of uncertainties and hidden dangers. Most people are just so focused on jumping straight into living that they forget to be afraid of choking on a cornflake, or tripping off a sidewalk and having a heart attack. Poor old Fulbert however, was not so driven. He pondered these scenarios and many more, and if you're constantly looking behind you, searching for a catastrophe that hasn't happened, you're going to miss the one that's taking place right in front of you. Or in this case, in your own head.

His overactive imagination would create obstacles that did not exist, only fuelling his paranoia. It got to the point where he became agoraphobic - afraid to face the outside world. He wouldn't even dare to shave, or cast a spell that would have the same result. He slept with his wand clutched in one hand and a knife in the other, just in case.

One afternoon, he awoke from a restless sleep to hear footsteps approaching his chair. He didn't know who or what it was, but there was something coming closer.

"W-who's there?" He called, and his false bravado was betrayed by his soft, stammering voice.

No one answered, most likely because there was no one there in the first place.

"Show yourself, or I'll be forced to harm you! I mean it, don't think I won't!"

Unconsciously he dropped the knife and began to curl his overgrown brown beard, as he often did when he was nervous.

"Fine, you've made your choice. I'll give you three seconds. Three, two...one. REDUCTO!"

He was aiming for the door, but hit the roof instead. His mouth opened in a horrified 'o' as he realised what was about to happen, but he could not move.

There was a sound like thunder, and the ceiling collapsed, scattering chunks of wood and plaster all around. A white layer of dust covered everything, and trapped Fulbert the Fearful, prisoner of his self-imposed cage.

He lived in a Muggle area, and by the time magical aid arrived, it was too late. As Fulbert lay. waiting for Death to spirit him away, he had plenty of time to reflect, and the irony of the situation was not lost on him.

_I wish I knew, _he thought, filled with regret, _what it was like to truly live._


	54. Rowena Ravenclaw

**Author's Note: It's another chapter, and another death. I know I said that there would only be seven more chapters a while back, and I'm not sure how many there are now, but if I've gone over that number, it's only because I don't really want this story to end. And I just burnt my finger on the sandwich toaster, not that you needed to know that. Thank you to htbookreader1, Ocean's Nocturne of the COCA, yellow 14, L.A.H.H. and Emma (it wouldn't let me put your penname, I've no idea why) for reviewing the last chapter, and I hope you all like this one. :)**

**Disclaimer: Unless I can think of a witty comment, I'm going to stop writing a disclaimer. For now, I think we all know I don't own Harry Potter.**

Hogwarts is an extraordinary magical school, and each and every year the Sorting Hat will sing the praises of its four founders: Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor. But knowing _of_ people isn't the same as actually knowing them, and certainly not the same as taking a leap into their minds, as we shall now, in the case of wise Rowena Ravenclaw.

Legend states that Rowena died at a young age, and that a broken heart may have contributed to her demise. When one hears the term 'broken heart' what typically comes to mind? Most probably thoughts of a deceased lover, cheating husband, etc. Not so for Rowena Ravenclaw. The most important person in her life had always been her daughter, Helena.

To have died young does not necessarily mean just passed forty years of age. We must remember two things. Firstly witches and wizards have increased longevity. Take Dumbledore for example – over 110 when he perished, yet he only really began to show signs of age when his hand was cursed. Secondly, age is relative. Sure, it allows you to say I've been on the Earth for this amount of time, but that is all. It does not mean that you must concede to the fact that once you hit 20 you can no longer act childish, or once you hit 70 you become old and frail. No number can determine that, and no number ever should.

As it happens, Ravenclaw was 55 years old at the time of her passing, and still retained the beauty of her early days. Wavy blonde hair which she had passed down to her daughter, greyish eyes that contained knowledge far beyond her years, an ivory complexion, high cheek bones and a slender frame all made for a gorgeous appearance.

"Rowena dear, open your eyes," her closest friend and fellow Hogwarts founder coaxed gently.

"Honestly Helga, how many times have I told you not to call me 'dear'? I'm only a few years younger than you. My eyes are open now, happy?"

"I wouldn't be if judging by your eyes alone, but your typical impatience has returned. A good sign, I should think. Can I do anything for you?"

"Yes. Fetch the Barron, and bring him to me. I have a favour to ask of him," she attempted to prop herself up onto her elbows, but gave up with a sigh and flopped onto the pillows.

"Rowena, I know you want to see your daughter again, but bear in mind she may not come."

"Thank you for that unwanted piece of advice, Helga. Would you mind fetching the Barron now please?" Hufflepuff said no more, turning to do as she was bidden. Later that night, the Barron set off into the darkness.

Three days later

"Any news?" Rowena tried to sound indifferent, but she could not disguise the hope that coloured her voice.

Wordlessly Helga shook her head and turned away, not wanting to see the pain and anxiety in her friends eyes. "Did you drink your potion?"

"Yes I did, mother," the last word was dripping with bitter sarcasm.

"Sorry," Helga started to apologise, "I was just - ," She was interrupted before she could finish.

"Why aren't they back yet? They should be back by now! Do you think he's found her? Maybe they're on their way back and he just forgot to contact us. Maybe she didn't want to Apparate and they're flying instead. Or maybe they're riding Thestrals! Or maybe…" She stopped, intending only to catch her breath, but was caught in a fierce spasm of coughing.

"And maybe you should relax. It can't be doing you any good getting all worked up like this. You know I'd tell you the second I heard anything, or they returned." Just as Helga finished speaking, the doorbell rang. "I won't be a minute. Wonder who it is?"

She was more than a minute, and when Rowena had counted to 200 in her head she started to worry. "Helga, is everything okay?"

By the look on her face, Rowena could tell the answer was a negative one. "No, actually, it's not." She seemed unsure how to continue.

"Who was that at the door?"

"It was…Salazar. He came to tell us that they've found something."

"Found something?" Ravenclaw was confused.

"Yes," Helga's voice cracked, "Helena and the Barron lay quite close to one another, dead and covered in blood."

Upon hearing those words, what little colour Rowena still had disappeared from her cheeks. "Oh," she managed, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Could you please leave me alone for a while? I think it would be best." Helga only nodded, closing the door behind her.

There had been marked improvement in Rowena's condition since she had spoken to the Barron, and Helga had allowed herself to hope that her friend might survive. That hope was quickly dashed after she observed Rowena on the following days. Her condition worsened faster than Helga had believed possible, day by day Helga watched her fade away.

She even called in a Healer, who said simply, "She's dying of a broken heart." Well, there was not much anyone could do about that.

In dying, Rowena believed that she would be reunited with her daughter. She wanted to be able to tell her she understood, and to right past wrongs. _Helena darling, I forgive you._

**A/N: Over a thousand words! That's big for me, though I suppose you wouldn't want little pieces like these to be too long in the first place… **


	55. Bernadette Crouch

**Author's Note: I didn't think I would get another chance to update before Christmas, but I guess I did. Thank you to Ocean's Nocturne of the COCA, yellow 14, TheRugMaster, htbookreader1 and L.A.H.H. for reviewing. Also thank you to anyone who has read, reviewed, favourited or Alerted this story over the course of the year. Much appreciation and thanks is sent your way. I hope you all have a safe and happy holiday. :) Happy Christmas, and if you don't celebrate Christmas, Happy December! I didn't know the name of Mr Crouch's wife, so once again, I made it up.**

The wizarding prison Azkaban was cleverly created. It is isolated, so anyone wishing to visit must travel a great distance, and this combined with its terrible wardens the Dementors made for the worst place to spend ones life, but an excellent place to send a prisoner.  
Dementors thrive on sad memories, removing all the happiness until there is nothing left except that which makes up the creatures themselves: numbness. Either you go mad and die in Azkaban, as most people did, you thrived within it, as Bellatrix did (how could a Dementor affect someone who didn't recognise a happy memory for what it was?) or you held on to one last shred of sanity that allowed you to distance yourself and eventually save your mind, and your life, as Sirius Black did.

Bernadette Crouch, wife of Barty and mother of Barty Jr, was in the first category.

"Barty, people die in Azkaban! He will die in Azkaban!" She was weak and desperate, something that was mirrored in her voice, and her thin lips that were now permanently turned down.

He avoided looking at her, for if he did not look, he would not have to see - see the pain that was, in part, his fault. "That is not my problem. I send people to Azkaban all the time, and you've never had anything to say about it before."

"He is your son - your flesh and blood! How can you do this?"

"I have said it before, and I will say it again - he is no son of mine. I am not, and never will be kin to any who calls himself a Death Eater." His tone was icy, his back ramrod straight, and he looked her straight in the eye this time, as if to convey the truth in what he was saying.  
Bernie reached up and delicately wiped the tears off her face with a freshly ironed handkerchief. As her blue eyes met his brown ones, the frail lady from before had vanished. In her place was the Bernadette that Mr Crouch used to know, the one from before all these horrendous events had begun.

He smiled despite himself. She gave no reaction other than to put forward a simple four letter question. "Do you love me?"

He was taken aback by this sudden change of tactic. "Of course I do, Nadie, what sort of a question is that?"

"A very valid one, I should think. For if you love me, you'll let me help him - let me help my son. I have a plan, but it requires your co-operation."

"Nadie," he sighed, "this isn't fair. You can't balance the truth of me and you on your love for somebody else."

"That's not what I'm doing." Her husband opened his mouth to protest, but she intercepted it. "No, what I'm doing is balancing it on your lack of love for somebody else - a young man who is currently rotting away in a jail."

Indeed, even though it was blackmail of a sort, Bernadette did not see it that way. She was a mother, plain and simple, doing everything within her power to protect her son. Sure, that son may have been accused of a heinous crime, but it didn't change the fact that he was hers. Watching someone grow, watching them smile and laugh and cry, healing grazed knees and being the one you knew they would run to - that creates a bond, a bond that time and words may wear away at, but was ultimately always there because it was never fully gone.

When that got no response, she was not deterred. She knew Barty, and she knew that she would wear him down. "Barty, look at me. I'm dying, do you understand that? If you will do one thing for me, just one thing, make it this."

His face had softened, yet he gazed blankly into the crackling flames of their living room fire place. "Tell me what I have to do."

* * *

So here she was – the prisoner that did not belong, in a body that was not her own, and a mole on her back that seemed very out of place.

"Hurry now," she whispered, and was still surprised to hear the deep male voice that spoke for her, "you must go, or they'll be suspicious."

Then suddenly she was gazing into her own eyes, and she heard her voice breathe two words: thank you. The multitude of emotions contained within them was enough of a reward for Bernadette; her son would be safe. Her husband looked back at her, his cold mask of indifference betrayed for only a moment by a flicker of anguish. He rounded a corner and was gone.

Bernadette did not last long in Azkaban. She was frail enough already, and the great mental strength it required to survive Azkaban was beyond her. A human is only the sum of their memories, and with half of those memories gone, half of that person goes too. To survive an ordeal, they say, you need to have hope, a light at the end of the tunnel.

For Mrs Crouch, there was no light. There was only an inescapable darkness, growing ever more powerful as her worst memories replayed themselves one by one. She was five, and she could hear the sounds of shouting and smashing glass from her parents' bedroom upstairs. She had been taught table manners and polite conversation, but what they always forget to tell you is that these things don't help when push comes to shove. When you hear mummy crying, and want to make her better, but you come to the understanding that no one can give another person happiness if first they don't strive for it themselves.

She was ten, watching the light fade from the eyes of her beloved puppy - Death had come, and would return many times throughout her life.

She was 15, and she failed a Herbology exam. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter, that everyone had to fail at something, but the waves of disappointment that were so strong they were almost like a physical wound, would not stop rolling over her.

She was 45, and her husband had just sent her son to jail; where he would most likely die, consumed by his past, haunted by tantalising glimpses of the future, yet stuck in the present.

She was 45, and _she_ was in jail. As the Grim Reaper came to visit for the last time, she remembered – _he is free because of me._


	56. Abraxas Malfoy

**Author's Note: I went on a spontaneous holiday, which is my excuse for not updating this story in a while. Plus, we've just had Christmas and New Year and all that. Speaking of which, I hope you all had a nice time! Thank you the following people for reviewing the last chapter: Cassandra30, Plate Captain, yellow 14, L.A.H.H. and htbookreader1. This one shall detail the death of Abraxas Malfoy, grandfather of Draco, mentioned to Slughorn in Half Blood Prince.**

**Disclaimer: My New Year's Resolution was to acquire the rights to Harry Potter. I haven't been successful.**

"Draco wants to see you, Abraxas." That was odd, people rarely used his first name, certainly never Narcissa, of whom he could not claim to be very fond.

"I don't want to see him, I told you that before!" His voice, though no louder than usual due to weakness, contained as much irritattion as he could muster.

Narcissa was looking at a place just above his right shoulder, seemingly unable to keep her blue eyes on his pockmarked, almost disfigured face. "That's a load of Doxy-dust! He's your grandson, and you're always harping on about how he's just like his father, how you're so proud that he's going to be carrying on the Malfoy name. It's not that you don't want to see him, it's that you don't want _him _to see _you_. He's only three, and he's not going to remember much of you; you don't want your grandson's last memory of you to be of a green bag of bones!"

"Cissy," Lucius' pale hand gripped her arm warningly.

"Your wifes eyes look a little faded," the elder Malfoy addressed the younger, "are you sure it's not possible she cried away the pigment?" Narcissa's lips tightened and set in a firm line; she wasn't going to be saying anything more soon. That suited Abraxas just fine.

"I'm dying. Clearly you can see that? Unless tears can wear away at your retinas as well? Bit by bit, I'm slipping away. My skin has changed colour, to the point where I look like a troll with really bad acne. That's all physical, I know, but sooner or later, my mind will start slipping away too. Have you ever known for certain that you were dying?" He looked at them to indicate this was not a rhetorical question.

Silently, husband and wife shook their heads.

"At first, you don't know what to think. You're numb, unable to feel anything. Slowly, feeling returns, and you get angry, furious at the world. Why did it have to choose you? Why couldn't it have been the Muggle paper boy, or the Squib child you despise? And then, you become desperate, unable to escape the knowledge that the only certainty we're given is staring you in the face. You begin to do stupid things, desperate to make your life matter, somehow. Now I'm here, stuck in a hospital bed, with my son and his wife watching me waste away. I'll not put my grandson through that too."

Tears are slipping down Narcissa's cheeks, and she walks out without saying a word. Lucius sighs, but there is a look of disdain in his eyes, as if he is ashamed of his father for showing weakness. Malfoys are not weak.

"You are my only child, Lucius, and Draco is your only child. You must make sure the Malfoy name does not die out."

His son inclines his head in acknowledgement, and says softly, "Goodbye, Father." A moment later he is gone, away from his past, and towards his future.

Abraxas stares at the door long after he has gone, with a far-away expression on his withered face. In truth, his body may have been bound to a bed in St Mungo's, but his mind was a million miles away, pondering the questions to which there were no answers. It did not bother him too much that he was alone. His wife had passed away five years ago, and she had never been good company anyway. Too absorbed in making a good social impression and gossiping with her reading club. Reading Club, he snorted. It was the first reading club he knew of that had Witch Weekly as the sole material for study. In addition to that, her main interests consisted of her weekly hairdressing appointment and not much else. The only thing her husband regretted about her death was that she never met her grandson.

Of course, social standing was important to him too, but he had money, and in most circles if you had money, all you had to do was place the right amount in the right hands and you were laughing. It's true that money doesn't buy happiness, but not everyone woke up in time to see that, and they were the easiest to manipulate.

"How're you feeling, Mr Malfoy?" His resident Healer asked brightly. She was a young one, obviously not yet having realised that when you work in a hospital when people are dying and you form any sort of attachment, you wind up getting hurt.

He gave a 'hmph' in reply.

"I see." Her smile dimmed a little. "We're going to keep performing Healing Spells on your skin, and administer Derma-Fix potion for your skin, but apart from that, there's not much we can do. There's not much time left, I'm afraid."

He hated that her voice was so gentle, so upset. It felt as though it was seeping in through his pores, infecting him with a regret he didn't know he could feel.

"No big deal. You can leave now." She looked surprised at his abrupt dismissal, but complied.

Abraxas Malfoy closed his eyes and leaned his head again the hospital pillows, hearing the scrunch of fabric against fabric, and tried to will himself in unconsciousness. Unfortunately, willing yourself to die is a bit like willing yourself to go to sleep – reverse psychology at work.

"Death doesn't seem too complaint today. Maybe he's busy," he grumbled to no one. "Well, since you're taking so long, you owe me a favour. _Don't _let me end up with my wife." He let out a mirthless chuckle and five minutes later, he knew no more.


	57. Moaning Myrtle

**Author's Note: This one will be Moaning Myrtle. When I remembered her, I couldn't believe I'd forgotten her until now. Thank you very much to those of you who reviewed the last chapter; it's much appreciated: Cassandra30, yellow 14, htbookreader1, Ocean's Nocturne of the COCA, L.A.H.H. and emmaaa(dot)janeee(dot). :) I hope you all enjoy this piece, and have a lovely day! Before I go - favourite song, anyone? I need ideas for my iPod...**

**Dedication: This one goes to htbookreader1, because I now have motivation to keep writing, and because small kindnesses are much appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: This time last year, I was a 14 year old girl who didn't own Harry Potter. Who knows what part of that sentence changed?**

Some people are prepared to die. They might have an illness, or they might be expecting a visit from a Death Eater sometime soon. Although it may sound callous, it is in a way the better way to perish. There's time to get your affairs in order, and to say those last goodbyes (if you have that long). Or, if you're seconds away, and you can feel Deaths warm breath at your neck, you get one final thought, and you KNOW that it's your final thought. Moaning Myrtle did not get that. Her death was as sudden and unexpected as they come.

"_Hey, look who it is, Olive! It's Moaning Myrtle!" _

_The girl in question hunched her shoulders and stared at the ground, trying to escape as quickly as possible, but no such luck._

_"What are you doing, sooky la-la? Are you trying to avoid me?" It always began like that for Olive; a rhetorical question, designed to weaken her chosen victim just enough, before the real fun kicked off._

_Myrtle gave no reaction, but in her haste to retreat, she tripped over her robes and fell to the ground. _

"_What's wrong, four eyes, can't you see? You can't see, can you? That's why you have to wear glasses – coz you're blind!" Olive taunted, ruthless as only a child can be._

_"I can so see, Olive!" Myrtle replied, but she was whispering._  
_"Bet you can't! I bet they're going to get you another pair of glasses, so then you'll be six-eyes! Ha ha!"_  
_"J-just l-leave me alone, Olive! Stop being so mean, for once, please!"_  
_"N-no, why should I? You're just a useless four-eyes, a w-w-waste of s-space!" she mocked, and with that Myrtle turned and sprinted towards the girls bathroom, tears streaking down her face, her despairing sobs echoing down the halls._  
This was one of the kinder days Moaning Myrtle experienced at the hands of Olive Hornby and her other classmates, a tiny excerpt of the times she had to endure. So, if, sometimes she felt like moaning, and running away, that seems to be understandable. Admittedly though, it is a matter of opinion.

Moaning Myrtle, whose real name, as people seemed to have forgotten, was Myrtle Meminger, didn't want to leave the Girl's Bathroom. If she did, she would have to go back to class, to face that horrid Olive Hornby and all her stupid friends. On the other hand, if she stayed where she was, she could avoid her classmates, _and_ miss out on Transfiguration. Never mind the trouble that she'd be in later, of course. All that mattered right then, all that ever matters when you're in the moment is right now. Past situations that might have been worse are forgotten, pushed out of your mind by the desperate desire to either hold onto the happiness you feel, or run from the problems you face. Myrtle, of course, ran.

In such a situation, it's like you're clinging to the bar at the side of a pool, clinging to what is safe and familiar and comforting, whilst the water rushes around you in great waves, trying to knock you around. The thing is though, until something changes, instead of being smack bang in the middle of one situation, you're going to be hanging somewhere between the two, caught in a state of perpetual uncertainty. YOU have to make that choice - are you going to sink, or are you going to swim?

Sinking seemed like the better option. It was easier, at any rate. All you had to do was sit back and let the tide of life take you where it will. Swimming required you to fight that tide, to prove to yourself and to the world that you are more than what they think. That can only be true if you believe that it is, and right then, all Miss Merminger knew was that she was unhappy, and she was crying, and it felt as though nothing could ever be enjoyable again.

Myrtle was crying softly, sniffling every now and again. She was still wearing her detested glasses, and her vision was obscured by the tears that had latched onto the lenses. She thought, briefly, that she should care. Yet she was too weepy to be worrying about tears on her glasses. Here she was, cloistered away in a toilet block, bawling her eyes out because....why was she bawling her eyes out, exactly? Ah, that's right - Olive teasing her about being four eyes. Four eyes, what a ridiculous concept! One day she would learn the right spell, and then it would be Olive and not her, who did, quite literally have four eyes. She allowed herself a small smile before remembering that she was supposed to be upset. She prepared to let out a loud sob, but before she could, an unfamiliar sound caught her attention.

"Saiahasieth....saiahasieth..." It was a low voice, definitely male. There were two problems there: one, the person wasn't speaking English, or any language Myrtle had ever heard, and two: it was a _girls_ toilet! How dare any boy even think about coming inside?  
She put her glasses back on and opened the door in order to tell them off, but her eyes did not meet with those of a male, nor those of anything remotely human. Her shining brown eyes unknowingly gazed straight into the most dangerous eyes any creature can possess: the deadly yellow pupils of a Basilisk.

Myrtle's last thought was, _I'm going to swim_. And even as a ghost, she did.


	58. Barty Crouch Jr

**Author's Note: I know Barty Crouch Jr didn't really die, as such, just had his soul sucked out, but for the purposes of this story, he died a little after that. I think that would make sense, because magic world or not, when you're missing some vital part of yourself, wouldn't the rest of your body shut down accordingly? Plus, he's played by David Tennant. Enough said. :) Thank you very much to yellow 14, L.A.H.H, Plate Captain, emmaaaa(dot)janeee(dot), Cassandra30, htbookreader1 and FaithfulHPReader for reviewing the last chapter. Bundles of appreciation to you! This is going to be one of the final chapters, as I have recently completed the very last chapter. I'm sorry this was so short, next one will be longer!**

**Dedication: to yellow 14, for one of the most entertaining reviews I have ever received, thank you!**

Barty Crouch Jr's story was one known to all those in the Ministry; it spread like wildfire, as rumours are wont to do. Everyone remembered he was a Death Eater, and nothing more. It's not really fair to say straight out, "he was a Death Eater," or "she was a Quidditch player" – that's not all that they are, or ever were. For what defines us, really? Is it that we have two arms and two legs? Two eyes, a nose and a mouth? Or is it the things that are not immediately obvious – our character, the people we become in times requiring great strength?

If so, then it must be noted that Barty Crouch's record did not look good. His defining moments consisted of murdering his father, indirectly causing the death of his mother, the sacking of Winky - whom had helped him more than any other creature ever would, and trying to kill Harry Potter.

Although poor Barty didn't exactly die, that night of his master's return, it would have been kinder if he had. Or perhaps it could be seen as the final revenge of the wizarding world – an act performed not out of goodness, but borne from the hate and anger that years of deception and murder will inevitably create. Whatever the reason, Voldemort's most devoted follower (second only to Bellatrix) was left alive for years following the removal of his soul. He was an empty shell, left to aimlessly exist in a white-walled room, with bars on the windows (Charmed to stay locked) just in case he ever did regain some semblance of his mind and tried to escape.

When Barty Crouch closed his eyes for the final time, it was May 2nd, 1998. He had hung on long enough to see his mentally-disturbed master fall. When Death claimed him finally, it was sad to note that a lone tear trickled down the former Death Eater's cheek.


	59. Dirk Cresswell

**Author's Note: Here we have Dirk Cresswell, who, for those of you who don't recall, was the Muggle Born in DH who was on the run with Dean Thomas and Gornuk the Goblin. Thank you to yellow 14, L.A.H.H and htbookreader 1 for reviewing the last chapter.**

Religion had never been his strong point, so he was surprised one day when he began to contemplate something rather more religious than he was used to: the Seven Deadly Sins. Once upon a time, he had been just an average Joe, so to speak. He was moderately good looking, with a mop of wavy brown hair which fell every which way across his head, and a pair of honest eyes to match. Not that he was out to impress anyone in particular, of course. He and Geneva had been married for 15 years now, and happily at that. He had two lively sons, who were the stars that lit his way, in this time of eternal night. He was well-respected at the Ministry, with friends in all circles. _And yet, a _tiny voice nagged him, _were things really that good, or is that just how you want to remember them? Everyone thought you were so good, but that was only because they couldn't see the failures you kept hidden away, too ashamed to let them show._ Mr. Cresswell knew, maybe more than anyone, that beneath every perfect surface, there existed a myriad of cracks and blemishes, flaws in the framework. Skeletons in the closet, if you will. It's just that some people were better at hiding them than others.

Lust

It started innocently enough. She was just a girl he met in the pub one night. A girl with her own worries and insecurities. He brought her a drink, and she confessed her sorrows to him. A friendship was born, over glasses of beer and mead, and a pub with patterned wall paper. For a while, it was fine. Then she invited him back to her flat. He was married, he knew that. But she was young, and blonde. Geneva need never know. _But he was married!_ His conscience, screaming at him insistently, was forgotten as she planted kiss after kiss against his lips.

_Just this one time, _he promised himself. It was a mantra he would become achingly familiar with, one that always wracked him with guilt.

Pride

Jesse and Zane were his pride and joy. Two years apart, they acted like twins. Indeed, they looked like twins, too. They were an interesting mix of their parents, with Dirk's hair, but Geneva's olive complexion and perfectly proportioned features. Their personalities would take days to describe, but the first thing that everyone noticed was that they idolised their father. That was why he pretended not to see the disappointment in their eyes when he told them yes, he would be staying late at work again. He attempted to soften the blow by promising a game of Quidditch on the weekend, but while years ago this would have made their faces light up with joy, after 13 years, broken promises were not enough.

Envy

When he was younger, he'd lived in a small, single storey house with his parents, on a street by the name of Rosamund. Opposite them, in Number 5, lived a pair of twins, a boy and a girl. Dirk couldn't even remember their names, and he wouldn't have remembered their existence, except for the fact that just the sight of them in their spotless, brand new clothes, and their latest edition car, and he could practically feel himself turning green. He never meant to do what he did. (Well, that was what he told himself when his stomach tied itself in knots of guilt so tight it felt like they would strangle him from the inside out. The twins had just received a kitten for their birthday's, cute as a button. They took him everywhere with them, and at night he would sleep on their beds. All nights except one. Dirk, as his parents knew, had wanted a pet, any pet, for years now. Every time he asked, they just shook their heads sadly and told him they couldn't afford it. This he knew, but he would ask again anyway, using up one more drop from that spring of hope, which, he would learn, isn't as eternal as everyone might lead you to believe.

One night, Dirk crept from his house, to the house opposite and slowly lured the cat out through an open window. He had only intended to play with it, to try and fool himself into believing, for a few precious seconds, that he had a pet of his own. But every time he found it's amber eyes locked on his, all he could see were the smug smiles of the twins, proudly showing him their new present. Well, he'd show them! The cat spluttered and began to choke, and without knowing how or why, Dirk understood that he was the reason for its death. That was the first time he used magic.

Sloth

Some days, life was just too much for Dirk Cresswell. Every day was the same, he reasoned. He woke at six am to go to work. Dealt with a few annoying wizards, and then either went to the pub or went home. If you knew what was coming, could predict pretty much everything that would happen in your day, then what was there to look forward to? He just couldn't be bothered. He wanted to sleep. Sleep, and never wake up. Either that, or go back to being a child again, when everything was new and different, and every day held mystery and adventure. As you grow up, some of that novelty fades away, and life slips into one big cycle, where everything is the same. But it's not the same, not really. True skill lies in being able to sift through the monotony and appreciate each moment for what it is – a precious second, a wondrous moment that you have had once, and will never have again.

_No, _he finally decided, _being a child requires too much energy. I just want to sleep._

Gluttony

Sometimes, Dirk would feel within him, an insatiable hunger. What it was he desired he knew not, only that he had to do something. He must quench this feeling! So he ate. Chocolates and lollies. Fruits and vegetables, chips and ice cream. Anything and everything he could get his hands on went straight into his eager, watering mouth. And it was never enough. He ate and ate until he could eat no more, and he felt ashamed of himself. Ashamed, and still somehow, empty. So he went for a run, until his head pounded and his heart beat rapidly against his ribcage, _thrum thrum thrum._ His hands shook from an empty stomach, and the hunger came back in full force. And so the phase begins again.

Wrath

Geneva would often look at him in wonder, and say "Dirk, how is it you're never angry?"

He would airily reply, "Oh, I have the patience of a saint." And she would laugh and agree. Yet the truth was something different, something he hid from himself as well as her. For the anger contained within him was such that he scared even himself. He vowed when he married her that he would put the past behind him. Those days were over and done. Finished they might have been, but sometimes they were all he could think about. He might be walking on a bright summer's day, having the time of his life, and he would remember. (_You don't deserve this.) _The memories, dark and terrifying, gave him nightmares he could speak of to no one.

The tiniest of things could set him off, a joking taunt from a classmate, or a not-quite-perfect grade on an essay, and his day would turn, just like that, from sweet to sour. At Hogwarts, he kept his anger mostly under wraps, letting it out only occasionally on any who dared bully him, and they soon learnt to keep away. But his parents were not so lucky. They bore the brunt of his moods. His mindless rages, during which he would scream and shout, hurling words through the air, cruel words, to hurt his parents, just as he wrongly thought they had deprived him. And then there were the less obvious things, his cynical, sarcastic remarks, which were enough to drive anyone up the wall. He had a way of speaking which automatically put one on the defensive, certain he had an ulterior motive.

The anger swirled within him, a monster that was never quite tamed, always coiled, ready to spring.

Greed

He wanted everything, absolutely everything. It was a need probably borne from his childhood, in which he was not quite poor, but not the richest ones on the block by any means. This he was determined to change. He worked steadily, charming where charm was required, competence where competence was required. His dedication got him noticed, as well as his ability to speak fluent Gobledegook. He was promoted to Head of the Goblin Liasion Offices, and the money he earnt was flaunted extravagantly. A psychiatrist would say he was overcompensating for his childhood, but if Dirk ever came across a psychiatrist, it is doubtful he would have given them his time of day. All that mattered to him was that, finally, finally, he was rich! He had piles upon piles of money, and he could spend it any way he wished.

He was King of his own little Castle.

A castle which came tumbling down when Voldemort took hold of the Minstry. Dirk went on the run, with no other choice. In a clearing, along with Gornuk the Goblin, he came to his untimely demise at the hands of Snatchers. He sat, immobile on the ground, eyes darting to and fro in fear.

_Please,_ he thought desperately, _please!_

It is a common word, used to add politeness to a request, in some cases. But then and there, all civilisation had been lost. It was a monosyllable that echoed around the darkened clearing. After all he had endured; it couldn't end here, not like this.

"PLEASE!" The sound intensified in volume, and Dirk realised it was coming from his mouth, his own lips, chapped and tired, but talking still.

It was a plea for mercy, as green light flashed, and understanding dawned: no mercy was to come. No mercy ever would. Only an ending, and, if you were lucky, a new beginning…


	60. Gornuk the Goblin

**Author's Note: A big thank you to yellow 14, htbookreader1, Cassandra 30, L.A.H.H, emmaaa(dot)janeee(dot) and Plate Captain for reviewing the last chapter, and for sticking with me as this story nears its completion. I hope you all like this one, and enjoy your weekend! Only nine reviews left till we reach 500! If we don't before the next chapter, I understand, but I would really appreciate it if everyone pitched in here... Have any of you been to the Harry Potter Exhibition? I'd really like to go one day...**

Goblins were known to be grouchy creatures that went about their jobs nevertheless, but resented any wizards who treated them as though they were inferior, such as the ill-fated Lord Voldemort. Gornuk, a Gringotts employee, fit the bill perfectly, so none who knew him were surprised when he fled not long after Lord Voldemort came into power, unwilling to be treated like a House Elf.

Along with a couple of his family, Gornuk escaped the bank, and went hiding under ground. It was no mean feat, giving up everyone and everything you knew, to willingly scuttle off and hide in a dark corner, much like a frightened mouse. Apart from the inevitable rising tensions among them, Gornuk, his brother Molok and his cousin Stilnar managed quite well, for a while. They would move from place to place every few days to avoid detection, travelling under the cover of darkness, and eating only when absolutely necessary. However, everything comes to an end at some point, be it a matter of days, months or millennia, and so it was for the three goblins, after a successful few months.

"I like this place," Stilnar said as he crouched over their small fire. "We're right near the border of the country, some where 'they' wouldn't search very thoroughly. We've plenty of food, and a stream within walking distance. The trees around us provide plenty of cover, and would be an easy escape route, if the need arose. I don't want to leave." Even as he uttered those words, he knew they made no difference. Wishful thinking and whinging words had no place in times of hardship. They slowed your step and lowered your mood, whereas words of hope and encouragement, false or not, provided you with that little bit more strength, that extra motivation you needed to push past your limits. And maybe, just maybe, you'd make it through another day and start again the next morning.

Encouragement would have helped them all at that moment, but they had none to give. Molok was nodding off against a log, and Gornuk only nodded absently in response to Stilnar's words. He shook himself to alertness. He was surprised to find that the sun was already beginning to sink below the horizon, painting the sky with an array of the palest pinks and purples. It was marvellous, but they had no time for marvels. Impatiently, Gornuk prodded his brother awake. "We must get going."

"Not so fast, my little rebels…you're going to have to come with us." The voice was hoarse, scarcely human, with an undercurrent of something that made Gornuk think of hunger.

The hooded figure stepped forward, accompanied by three others, but Gornuk did not wait to see what they would do. "RUN!" He shouted and, taking his own advice, sprinted in the direction of the trees. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of one of the attackers from the corner of his eye: Greyback.

He could hear swearing and sounds of a struggle from his rear; apparently Molok and Stilnar were putting up a fight. Still, Gornuk did not look back. His only priority was himself. Lungs burning, calves screaming, he pushed through the densely populated forest, not even feeling the sting as branches cut his arms and legs. He never saw Molok and Stilnar again.

He walked for days, surviving on mouthfuls of water, and rationing the little food he carried with him. Sometimes, he wondered why the Snatchers did not come back for him. He settled on the notion that one goblin was not worth mounting another search – there were bigger fish to fry.

Just as Gornuk was beginning to think that he could go on no longer, and would die out here, salvation came in the form of Griphook, Dean Thomas, Dirk Cresswell and Ted Tonks. Gornuk sank into blissful unconsciousness, and woke a few days later, feeling more rested then he had in a long while. But alas, freedom was not destined for him, it seemed. His second capture went in much the same way as the first.

"What do you miss the most from home?" Dirk asked from his cross-legged position opposite Ted.

"What, are we playing some stupid game of 'I remember...' now are we? What's wrong with you humans - always eager to dwell on things that, though associated with happy times, bring you a pang of sadness. That world is gone. We're in the midst of a war - you should have already said your goodbyes!"

"Actually Gornuk, remembering happier times actually helps us, well, me at least, remember just why we have to keep going, even when it seems like another day of this would well and truly do our heads in. I understand, however, that the workings of the human mind have long been beyond your understanding." Ignoring Gornuk's scowl, he continued, "In answer to your question Dirk, I'd have to say my wife and daughter. There's none I love more in the world."

Gornuk paid attention long enough to register the look of guilt that passed across Dirk's face at the mention of family, before firmly closing his eyes and ears to the conversation. It was not a few minutes later that all talk, indeed, all noise came to a sharp and sudden halt.

"You idiot! You careless, stupid idiot! You'll be the death of us!" Gornuk heard the fury in his tone, but did not see who Dirk was accusing. He shot bolt upright, his senses telling him something bad was about to happen.

Dean was standing apart from the rest, his wand out, his eyes warily scanning the area. "They're probably already here." His voice was barely audible, permeating the air with the unmistakable sound of fear. Griphook stood behind him, all too aware of just how powerless he was against however many armed wizards were about to find them.

"Stay right where you are," one of them rasped, and with a start, Gornuk realised he knew who it was: Greyback.

The werewolf must have recognised him, too, as his expression became, if possible, more menacing as his eyes alighted on Gornuk, "This one 'ere, he escaped me before, but not this time. Not this time.I'm gonna kill-"

"Stupefy!" It was Dirk, acting rashly in order to save his own hide. Gornuk, thinking along the same lines, ran towards one of the Snatchers, as if kicking them would do any good. They only laughed. "Tie them up, and punish those two for their insolence."

Before any of them had time to react, their bodies slammed into the trunk of the nearest tree. Dean's head make contact with a dull _thunk. _There'd be no help from him any time soon. "Spare him and the goblin. When they're unconscious, you can't hear them scream."

"We coud wake him up?" One of the others suggested timidly. Gornuk shuddered to think what happened to one who got in Greyback's bad books. He was about to find out.

"Nah, waste of time. Besides, we can torture them later. As for you two..."

Have you any idea what it is like, to see your own fate played out before you? You watch, as Gornuk watched, completely transfixed to the horrifying spectacle. You are unable to tear your eyes away, partly out of a morbid desire to see all the sights you can before you'll never see again, and partly due to the fear that if you look away, they'll come for you.

The Snatchers tortured Creswell, as promised, and when they were done, Greyback feasted on the live remains.

Blood was smeared all over his face, dripping untended down his chin, as he turned to look Gornuk in the eye. "Are you ready, goblin?"

He kept his mouth clamped tightly shut, afraid he might empty the contents of his stomach otherwise, but his answer came later. It was knives, piercing his skin, agonisingly slow, and then plunging deeper, twisting without mercy. Simultaneously, it was an icy cold sensation, like being trapped in a freezer. He was numb from cold, and yet alight with fire. Burning up, and freezing down.

His answer, in the form of an insane outcry: "NO!"

His answer, in the form of a final lucid thought: _Please, God, anyone, make this stop! Let it end. I can't take any more! No more..._


	61. Ted Tonks

**Author's Note: The end approaches…sadly. I recently read a book called Dark Days, a Skulduggery Pleasant book. I must say, it was quite an enjoyable read. Have you guys read anything good of late? Thank you to Plate Captain, emmaaa(dot)janeee(dot), L.A.H.H, yellow 14, htbookreader1, Cassandra 30, and Freedom-to-Fly, who reviewed the last chapter, I am incredibly grateful. This chapter shall take us through the life and death of Ted Tonks, husband of Andromeda and father of Nymphadora. I hope you like it! Depending on whether or not I have time to write another chapter, this might be the last actual character death in here. In fact, I'm pretty sure it will be. The next chapter will be the very last one.**

Everyone has secrets. You might deny it, and protest loudly that you, of all the millions of people on this planet, are the sole exception. You hide nothing, and from no one. Yet that would be a lie, which in itself becomes a secret when the truth remains untold. Ted Tonks was one of billions to walk this Earth, and one of the millions within who had magical ability. So, naturally, he had secrets.

They ranged from tiny little things, like the occasional cigar he would smoke after Andromeda had gone to bed, or his stamp collection, which was too much of a Muggle concept for him to ever consider telling a soul. But his biggest secret, his greatest regret, stung more than all the others put together. It wasn't a secret, not really, considering two people and one goblin knew, but it submerged him in guilt for the entire hour he had to carry it.

They were sitting in a circle, having finally decided to stop walking for the day. They would have Apparated, but refrained from doing so, fearful that any magical activity might draw their enemies to them. Ted lowered himself to the ground, his joints cracking loudly as he did so.

"I'm getting old," he complained. "Though I have to admit, all this walking has done wonders for my stomach. I could run a marathon. What d'you say, Dean? I'll race you, when all this is done?"

It had been meant to be taken lightly, a feeble attempt at a joke. Dean didn't even look at him, a sure sign that he was in no mood for humour.

Griphook, on the other hand, reacted. 'Old, human? What do you know of age and pain? You, of a mere sixty-five years of age. You feel something that isn't pleasure, you say it is pain. You know nothing. I, Griphook, am one hundred and one years old. I have seen wars and reconciliations, more carnage than you could comprehend. My legs are barely strong enough to hold me up. They ache with my every movement. Live with that, and then come back to me."

Ted, who was usually quite composed, had turned oddly pale. His jaw was clenched in uncharacteristic anger. "Have you ever been under the influence of the Cuciatus? Felt like Death was reaching for you, and then despaired when you realised he wasn't? Have you ever watched your wife endure the same? Felt her pain like it was your own? Seen your daughters face crumple, and realised, right then and there, that her heart was shattering, and there was nothing you could do? Maybe I can't look through your eyes, but neither can you mine. A person's life and their memories might be different to yours, but that does not by any means make them easier to live with."

Tonks was breathing heavily by the time he had finished, and unwanted pictures pushed their way to the forefront of his mind. _Nymphadora sat at their kitchen table, looking older and sadder than he had ever seen her. Her eyes were red from crying, with dark circles of fatigue beneath them. Her hair was a mousy brown, and as she refused to raise her face to meet his own, he hated the person who did that to her._

_Not a few months later, he watched his beloved daughter pledge herself to the very man he had vowed to hate. Yet as her face shone with a light he hadn't seen in so long, he couldn't bring himself to do it. _Remus thought Ted disapproved of him and his relationship with Dora. He knew that, knew that he appeared cold and distant, when actually, all he'd wanted, all he'd needed, was to know that this man – werewolf or not – would treat his daughter as she deserved.

Dirk, surprisingly, took on the role of peacemaker this time. "Let's talk about something else. What do you miss most from home?"

"What, are we playing some stupid game of 'I remember...' now are we? What's wrong with you humans - always eager to dwell on things that, though associated with happy things, bring you a pang of sadness? That world is gone. We're in the midst of a war - you should have already said your goodbyes!"

"Actually Gornuk, remembering happier times actually helps us, well, me at least, remember just why we have to keep going, even when it seems like another day of this would well and truly do our heads in. I understand, however, that the workings of the human mind have long been beyond your understanding." Ignoring Gornuk's scowl, he continued, "In answer to your question Dirk, I'd have to say my wife and daughter. There's none I love more in the world."

Gornuk withdrew from the conversation at that point, but the others kept on. "It's scary," Dean confessed, "running away. I miss my house. I miss my family. But I guess it'll all be worth it, if You-Know-Who is ever defeated."

"My Dora always said that Dumbledore said fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself/ Why do we all say You-Know-Who?"

"There's a curfew, remember?" Dean reminded him, but it was too late, as Ted finished, "His name is Voldemort." He stopped, realising what he'd just done.

Dirk was standing over him, shouting, "You idiot! You careless, stupid idiot! You'll be the death of us!" He was turning purple, and if they weren't in so much danger, Ted would have laughed.

"They're probably already here," Dean whispered, unnecessarily. Ted couldn't move. He felt physically ill. What had he done? One word and his life was over. One word, nine letters, three seconds, and they were all going to die. One word could change everything, and once it had, events were out of your control. A careless moment, a tiny slip, and the world rolls off its axis. The consequences might be great or small, but you can never escape what you've done.

They killed Ted last, and in a way he thought he deserved that. He was the one who had done this to them, and to himself. He ought to be punished. It lasted two minutes, or two millennia. In the end, Ted was no longer aware of time, of food, or water, of even guilt. He had one final request: _Don't let Dora and Dromeda find out what I did. Don't let them think the worst of me…_


	62. The Final Chapter

**Author's Note: Here it is. The Final Chapter of Deathly Musings. The last time I'll ever update this story. It's a bit hard to comprehend, actually. I wasn't sure which character to end this with, and that's when I came up with the idea of something totally different, not a character at all, per se. Thank you immensely for reviewing the second last chapter: yellow 14, cottoncandylover11, justlikebrokenglasstome, htbookreader1, Cassandra30 and L.A.H.H.**

**The final Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, and I receive no profits (bar reviews) from this story.**

A List Of the Dead  
Severus Snape  
Mad-Eye Moody  
Hedwig  
Grindlewald  
Dobby the House Elf  
Regulus Black  
Fred Weasley  
Charity Burbage  
Albus Dumbledore  
Cedric Diggory  
Sirius Black  
Nagini  
Colin Creevy  
Remus Lupin  
Frank Bryce  
Professor Quirrel  
Peter Pettigrew  
Tom Riddle  
Nymphadora Tonks  
Bloody Baron  
Bellatrix Lestrange  
The Grey Lady  
The Fat Friar  
Alice Longbottom  
Frank Longbottom  
James Potter I  
Lily Evans  
Lord Voldemort  
Nearly Headless Nick  
Aragog  
Nicholas Flamel  
Rufus Scrimgeour  
Dorcas Meadowes  
Basilisk  
Igor Karkaroff  
Barty Crouch Sr.  
Merope Gaunt  
Bathilda Bagshot  
Bertha Jorkins  
Amelia Bones  
Vincent Crabbe  
Emmeline Vance  
Fawkes the Phoenix  
Gideon Prewett  
Fabian Prewett  
Professor Binns  
Marvolo Gaunt  
Pandora Lovegood  
Ariana Dumbledore  
Evan Rosier  
Chelsea Abbott  
Broderick Bode  
Fulbert the Fearful  
Rowena Ravenclaw  
Bernadette Crouch  
Abraxas Malfoy  
Moaning Myrtle  
Barty Crouch Jr.  
Dirk Cresswell  
Gornuk the Goblin  
Ted Tonks

An Introduction

Hello. Pleased to meet you. I suppose at this point I should tell you a bit about me. It's not like you're going to be telling me anything about you. A name generally comes first, does it not? I have many names. Among them are the Grim Reaper and the Prince of Darkness. I shall trust that if you are reading this, you will not judge me by what I do. It is an endless job, fetching and ferrying the souls of the deceased. I cannot claim to like it. Each of us has a calling, an occupation, a duty in this world that is truly ours. This is mine.

The Two Times I Shirked My Duty  
Harry Potter  
Tom Riddle

The very act of me turning away is rare, so the fact that it happened twice in one night was most certainly a shock. In fact, for two events that were mere seconds apart, they produced astonishingly contrasting feelings within me. (Contrary to popular opinion, I am capable of feeling.)

I was already in the house at the time. The atmosphere was thick with residual fear. Although the possessors of said feeling no longer existed (I held their young souls in my arms) the feeling lingered, permeating the air, the walls and even, to a point, me. That was, of course, ridiculous. What was worthy of my fear? Certainly not the concept of dying. The very idea is laughable.

A Description

It was a small room. Fitting, considering it was for a small child. A small family at that. A family which had been ripped apart. The walls were painted white, plainly white. Small ducks had been painted, or bewitched onto the walls. A bitter reminder of the innocence it would never regain. I crept forward, hating the job I would have to do. Children were always the hardest – so much potential never to be realised. High, cold laughter rang through the night, and in a tone devoid of goodness, the voice spoke the words that I had come to hate: "Avada Kedavra!"  
My fingers crept forward, and then stilled, as I understood without quite knowing how, that my job had been reversed. Two words made me certain of this.

Two Words  
An innocent, childish question: Mamma?  
A disbelieving snarl: NO!

I turned, a smile gracing my features, for now I knew that justice would at last be done. Or so I thought. It seemed fate was working in mysterious ways that night, deceiving even I. Something stopped me that night. Two things, really. The first was love, and I yielded eagerly to its gentle resistance, glad for once, to see something so pure. The second was the antithesis of the first - the slippery, intangible feeling of a soul that was no longer whole. I had no choice – I left. But Death is not so easily stopped. I would return for him. And I did.

A Thank You

This is for you, dear reader. For all the time it took, as these little snippets were written, came into existence, it was you who gave them life. For though an author may write the words, may put pen to paper and craft a piece of great or terrible quality (and that, of course, is a matter of opinion) it is the ones who read the words, who immerse themselves in the story that truly bring it to life. They open the metaphorical pages (or documents) and allow the stories to breathe. For following our sad, sad tale, through good experiences and bad, through endings and new beginnings, I wish to thank you.

A Parting Message

For now, I'll say farewell. But know this: I will see you again. I'm not sure how, or when or why, only that there will come a time when I will have to take you away. Having said that, I offer you a piece of advice: do not wait for me with bated breath, for there are so many that do. I implore you instead to forget me for as long as you can. Cry and laugh, create and destroy, live and die – do all the things I never will.

**Final Author's Note: So that's it. There you have it. I've spent almost three whole years of my life writing this story (which only proves how terrible I am at updating) and now that era has come to an end. During those three years, this story, and my writing style, changed quite a lot. Hopefully in a good way, of course. To everyone who has ever reviewed this story: you shaped those three years for me in more ways than you could ever know. To open my inbox, and see your reviews, to see that people actually took the time to read and comment on MY work - I really appreciate it. So, one last time, my dear readers – review?**


	63. Augusta Longbottom

**Author's Note: I know I said this story was complete, but I had the urge to add another chapter, so this is the result. I hope it is okay, and I extend my immense thanks once again to anyone who has reviewied/ favourited/ Alerted this story. Thank you for making me smile. :) **

When the sun goes down, and all is quiet in her little house, and her bones ache with age, Augusta has time to think. Her feelings about those times are mixed – she loves them, because she's become so accustomed to being alone. She feels safe and content and she doesn't have to feel the eyes of other people on her, judging even when they don't know they're doing it. There's a certain kind of solace in solitary silence she thinks, for these are the times when clarity appears and acceptance settles like a comfortable blanket.

In a way she doesn't quite understand, she simultaneously hates these times, for she's afraid that spending too much time in her own mind might lead her to get lost. Aware of the life Frank and Alice lead, or the lack thereof, she can't think of anything worse.

Who needs Dementors to relive their worst moments? People are perfectly capable of doing that on their own.

For years, Augusta endured Greg's drunken behaviour, succumbed meekly to his orders and listened to his furious, seemingly incessant shouting, etching those words – insults - like scars upon her heart. When she fell pregnant with Frank she realised she had to leave, for his sake. They made a life of their own, and even though Greg became a part of her past, the echo of his voice stayed with her always and she wrapped herself in a protective shell of aloofness, a futile and feeble defence.

Frank became the centre of her life, to the point where she was always reluctant to share him or let him go. She'd always been ashamed of how she'd treated Alice because of it, but she'd never had the chance to apologise. Losing Frank was the hardest thing she'd ever had to endure, and if she was being honest, Neville was the only reason she _had _endured, if you could call it that. Even though Frank hadn't died, he was still lost – lost within himself, and what kind of a mother was she if she couldn't bring her son back?

As an old woman, Augusta Longbottom was stern and reserved, grouchy, irritable and unwilling to trust anyone or anything. She regretted it sometimes, especially when she'd see that flash of hurt appear on Neville's face as she reminded him of everything his father was, and all that he hadn't achieved in comparison. But she couldn't help it (that was the excuse she used to justify her actions in her own mind, anyway), life had made her that way.

Hannah has already been in with the children – Celia and little Frank. They were confused, their innocent minds yet unable to comprehend how a life could end so suddenly, how a person might leave, but remain forever in the hearts of those they had loved, and who had loved them. She hopes that they are able to preserve that blissful ignorance for as long as possible. They're not the ones she needs to see the most though…

She's left him a letter, just in case he doesn't get here in time, but still, she hopes that he'll make it, and that he'll know the truth, from her mouth, before she's no longer able to tell him herself.

"Gran," he pants, his round face red from running up the stairs, "I'm here."

He sits next to her and she reaches out her trembling, wrinkled hand to hold his. She thinks of all the things she never told him, all the stories about herself, and his parents. Then she contemplates how far he's come, and all the lessons he's yet to learn, but she's not anxious about him anymore – he's managed his whole life without her guidance, and she knows how capable he is.

"Neville," she whispers hoarsely, her eyes locked with his, "I'm proud of you."

He nods, giving her a watery smile. Confident that he understands, she closes her eyes and knows no more, hoping only to see her son again and tell him all about his son, and her courageous grandson.


End file.
